


Fresh Paint

by Deathcomes4u



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers IDW continuities
Genre: Angst, Frisky Bob, Healing, IDW continuity spoilers, Other, PTSD and triggers, Sticky Sex, Trauma Councilling, interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathcomes4u/pseuds/Deathcomes4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanks to Bob the Insecticon, Rung runs into Sunstreaker on the 'Lost Light' and decides it's time the golden mech benefited from his skills and began the healing process. Bob tags along of course.<br/>(*note: This is a work in progress, A03 is calling it complete but it's not and i don't know how to fix it so yeah, I don't know how many chaps it's going to be.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing just started as dialogue in my head with Rung and Sunstreaker after I read the mtmte #6 preview, and then I realised I had to write it so i spent a couple hours hashing it out.  
> It references a couple continuities of comics but possibly a little inaccurately since I only read most of them once and details got fuzzy. And I'm way too lazy to go remind myself of them cause by then I woulda lost the dialogue in my head.
> 
> So yea, Shortfic gogog. I may do a little more for this later or I may not, I'm not sure. It may get slashy or it may not. This right here though is not.

"Stop!...Heel! Agh, I need that! Bring it back!"  
Rung ran after the insecticon, since he was faster at a stride down the corridors of the 'Lost Light' than he was in his alt mode. Mostly because he would topple taking corners too fast, one of the curses of being a tri-wheel vehicle rather than the standard quad.  
  
The insecticon made no move to slow, bounding down the corridors of the habitation suites, further and further into an area Rung had not visited. It was mostly storage rooms, so far as the schematic he had told him.  
His pistons hissing loudly in protest, not used to having to work that rapidly for so long, he forced himself to continue.  
  
That wasn't any old stylus after all. It was the one he'd received on graduation from the academy. it wouldn't even mean a great deal to him just from that except it had been given specifically to him by his single most admired role-model.  
  
Expatiator, the greatest psychologist and psychiatrist Cybertron had ever seen (at least Rung thought so), had given him THAT stylus, and told him to 'Go out there and repair what the medics can't'.  
That stylus was a symbol of his life's work, trying to live up to the task Expatiator had set him.  
  
He was not about to let a pet insecticon steal it and use it as a chew toy.  
So focused on pushing himself to break his frame's protests at such unusually vigorous use, he took another corner and ran headlong into something that did not give way, sending him sprawling across the deck on his aft rather spectacularly.  
  
"Watch it." Was the gruff reply of the thing he'd run into, which was the only clue that told him it was a mech and not a wall.  
A golden wall.  
"Oh... Sunstreaker? I'm terribly sorry, I was... chasing your pet actually."  
The psychiatrist looked up at the dour frontliner, trying not to stare.  
It wasn't the first time they had met. But as with any time, and much like many other mechs, Rung found it difficult not to stare.  
After all, Sunstreaker's narcissistic tendencies were not baseless.  
  
It took the psychiatrist a moment to realise Sunstreaker, frowning as if slightly annoyed, was offering him a servo up.  
He scrambled to accept, slightly embarrassed, but quickly recovered himself.  
"I don't mean to trouble you, but your... insecticon has stolen something of mine I rather value-"  
"Bob. Drop it."  
The insecticon gave his master a mechanical whine and a tilt of his head.  
The golden mech repeated his command with a tone that bore no argument and Bob finally relinquished, dropping the stylus into his master's outstretched servo.  
  
"Ah, thankyou. I'm a little curious as to why he took it, is this a habit of his?"  
Sunstreaker seemed to consider him a moment, expression unchanged, and turned to walk in the opposite direction as he answered.  
"No. I sent him to look for things. I didn't mean for him to take things that belonged to other bots."  
Curiosity found Rung following the frontliner without really consciously deciding to do so.  
He had actually been meaning for some time to speak with Sunstreaker, but he'd hoped the mech would come to him of his own volition.  
  
Part of him knew it had been too much to hope for really.  
"What are you doing down here? I thought perhaps you'd be keeping company with the others in Swerve's distillery."  
The frontliner gave a half shrug, his insecticon pet, 'Bob', trotting happily along beside him.  
"Not really my kind of crowd I guess."  
  
"I suppose it's the crowd part that puts you off the most?" Rung said neutrally.  
"No." Flat, non-commital answer. At least it was an answer.  
"So have you chosen a habitation suite yet?" A change of topic should get him talking a little better. He'd done an assessment on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe before. The golden twin was touted as the strong silent type by most of his peers, but in truth he was very talkative, assuming the conversation was intelligent and of interest to him.  
  
"Sort of. It's not really a habitation suite. No one else was going to use it though."  
There was a beat of silence as Rung caught up to the larger mech's sedate strides.  
He knew the other mech was not walking slowly to let him keep up, but rather to stall their arrival at wherever Sunstreaker was headed.  
  
"Look, I don't need shrinking, so i don't know why you're following me."  
"On the contrary Sunstreaker, your recent records tell me otherwise. I'm not here to 'shrink' you, I just want to talk. Or more, I want you to talk, since i know that is not something you are inclined to do. What you are inclined to is-"  
"Don't pretend to know me." The golden mech snarled, Bob mirroring the sound out of instinct.  
Rung continued in a calm tone that was intended to be as non-provocative as possible.  
"-you tend to bottle things up when you don't have another mech you feel comfortable talking to. And since neither your brother, nor Ironhide are here, and i haven't seen you taking any sort of liking to any of the other crew members-"  
  
"Wrong again." Sunstreaker growled.  
"Tell me how I am wrong. I do not wish to be right on this." Rung responded softly.  
the frontliner stopped in his tracks suddenly, ex-venting in aggravation, Bob plopping down on his aft and looking between the two mechs with bemused confusion.  
  
"It's not that I don't like any of them. They don't like ME. They have no reason to. Not after what I did."  
"On Earth?" Rung asked without any bias in his tone, but he could see the dark blue optics cycling tightly.  
Just the name of the planet had a negative effect.  
Rung knew just from that he could not leave Sunstreaker untreated. It would go against every code he lived by.  
  
Sunstreaker began walking again, stiff and clearly unwilling to touch the subject.  
Rung didn't press. He knew he didn't have to. He just needed to wait a moment...  
  
"You don't even know slag about Earth."  
He knew enough about the golden mech to know he couldn't keep it to himself when there was a willing outlet like him around.  
"I have reviewed every file of every mech on this ship and what happened on that planet to those who were there."  
"Oh yeah? And what the slag would any of the records say about what happened to me? I'm sure there's a fully detailed report on how I betrayed the Autobot cause." He spat violently, Bob making a small whining noise, clearly not sure why his master was angry.  
  
"Actually, Jazz made rather a large effort to retrieve any and all information regarding what the Humans did to you."  
"Oh did he now? Pity he didn't expend the same effort to actually find me when it was happening." He snarled.  
Stealing a sideways glance, Rung could see the normally extremely handsome faceplate was screwed up with intense anger and unspoken rage.  
But even as he watched, it drained to a much wearier look.  
"But I guess they paid their dues with my mistake. I mean frag, what slagging idiot takes STARSCREAM at his word?"  
A cold, bitter laugh with no mirth followed, and they fell into silence again for a while.  
  
"So you believe the crew here does not want you around because you betrayed your comrades? Even the mechs who were not part of the same crew, or not part of the war altogether?"  
"You know me so well, what do you think? I've never exactly been social. In fact, your initial assessment was something like 'sociopathic to the point of discouraging contact with any but the few he trusts'. Oh, and that gem about me being narcissistic to the point that I value the condition of my paint over the safety of other mechs in my unit."  
  
"At the time, that WAS the case you know. Mechs do change. Especially in war." The psychologist offered in a sort of apology.  
"You haven't." He flung back gruffly, but there was no sting to it.  
"On the contrary, I feel I have, but perhaps not outwardly. The point is, so have you. As you have proven through many occasions of sacrifice."  
  
The golden mech did not respond, staring straight ahead and schooling his faceplates to hide his emotions behind a gruff mask.  
It was as Rung wondered where best to steer the conversation that he noticed his own paint scuffs on the floor.  
"Are you leading me in circles?"  
  
"Are you?" He quipped back dodgingly.  
"Is there something you do not wish me to see?"  
"No... maybe... I don't know. I kind of hoped you'd get bored and leave. Or take a hint."  
  
Rung frowned sightly as his mind started piecing little clues together.  
"Would this have anything to do with your pet-"  
"Bob."  
"...with Bob stealing my stylus?"  
  
The golden mech seemed to debate internally over how much he should reveal before he gave a rather loud ex-vent.  
"I've been sending Bob out to find me supplies."  
"Supplies?"  
"...Art supplies. I show him stuff I want, get him to sniff it, train him to find it and then he goes and looks. He probably thought your stylus was a carbon stick. It's made of a carbon rich alloy I guess."  
  
Rung looked over his stylus, nodding. "Yes, i believe so. So you still make art then? May I see what you've been doing recently?"  
Again the frontliner seemed to work through some inner turmoil before reluctantly nodding.  
"Fine. But no shrinking it, fraggit. It's not meant to be something I show mechs. I'm only letting you see because you'll understand most of it."  
  
Rung nodded and they headed down a different corridor, Bob moving to follow Rung now, sniffing curiously at the psychiatrists servos, trying to get the stylus out of his grip.  
Rung subspaced it and cautiously scratched the insecticon on the helm.  
He smiled slightly as Bob whirred and pressed into the contact, eager for more.  
  
"So why did you choose to get a pet? Not that it is uncommon in isolated Cybertronians."  
"We didn't 'choose', it just kinda happened."  
Rung tilted his helm at that half-afted answer. "Oh? What was the purpose for it?"  
"HIM. He's not an 'it'." Sunstreaker grumbled.  
"Nono, you misunderstand me... I meant the act, the taking on of the task, catching, training... what made you think to do it?"  
  
"Oh... I guess Ironhide really thought of it first. I mean, he was out there killing the bugs, he noticed things about them. He realised the loners were different to the rest of the swarm. They were smarter for one, he thinks that's why they were alone, they got kicked out of the swarms or they left because they couldn't assimilate with the way the other bugs acted."  
  
"So Ironhide caught him for you?" Rung asked casually.  
"Yea, he thought I needed... a companion I guess. Something to keep me occupied while I was stuck in that chair with only Trion the almighty ego for company." He smirked. "Plus he had some idea like Bob would be my extra protection since I couldn't really fight with my legs not working."  
  
"So why 'Bob'? It's an oddly un-Cybertronian name."  
"Better than Hunte-" Sunstreaker cut himself off with a bark of feedback as he realised what he'd let slip and looked away.  
  
"That was the name of the human, yes? The one that helped you escape?"  
"I'm not talking about it."  
The frontliner's voice was colder than solidified nitrogen. But Rung was not about to steer away from what was clearly one of the heaviest emotional burdens weighing Sunstreaker down.  
  
"You must face what happened to you at some stage. Both of you, together I mean."  
"That'll be a bit hard since he's dead." The golden mech bit back.  
"Not entirely."  
For the second time, they stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, but the look Sunstreaker turned on Rung was so intense the psychologist nearly stepped back.  
Instead he forced himself to hold his ground and counter with an open sort of calm that diffused Sunstreaker's anger.  
  
"What do you mean 'not entirely'? What kind if slag is that?"  
"You were bonded on a neuro-cynaptic level. That is what Ratchet's report states. Therefore you shared, for a small while, one mind. You were both separate identities yes, but parts of you... leaked into one another. If Ratchet had not separated you soon enough, the 'leak' would have continued until you both became a new, melded identity. One lifeform in two bodies. Two brains. He may be dead, but parts of his mind remained imprinted into yours."  
  
Sunstreaker's optics remained cold, hard, cycling tightly, searching Rung's for a lie he wished was there.  
"Why didn't Ratchet tell me this?"  
"You'll have to ask him that. But I suspect he meant to, and simply didn't want to have to broach the subject unless it became necessary. To be fair, you are not exactly open to discussing the topic."  
  
"Damn slagging right I'm not." He growled, turning to walk again, moving to a door a little way ahead of them and punching his code into the door angrily.  
"How eager would you be to discuss the fact one of those filthy organic primitives had been inside you? Had seen everything about you, every secret laid bare, no thought your own. How would you like it if you had to bind yourself to one of the species that tore you into pieces and let you suffer like you were in the seven smelts of the pit?  
I asked him to kill me. Even he wouldn't grant me that mercy."  
  
The door opened and Bob bounded in, Sunstreaker stomping in after and not waiting for Rung.  
"Mechs liked that stupid meatbag. He had friends. They mourned him. They hated me for not mourning him. You know what the worst part is?"  
  
He turned to face the psychiatrist, who's optics had never left him.  
"The worst part is I DID feel bad. And I didn't know WHY. I didn't want to care. I didn't even like the kid. I was glad to be rid of him except that i never WILL be... Ratchet didn't tell me about any... neuro-linko slag, but that doesn't mean i couldn't still feel bits of him in my head. I thought... I thought i must be going nuts at one stage. I HATE Earth. Hate everything on it, every stinkin' thing about it, but I kept getting these feelings. I kept MISSING things about the place I didn't even know about. Chips and pizza, or video games, or the smell of pines... HUMAN things, stuck in my head, and I'm never going to be rid of them!"  
  
He turned, flinging his arm in an angry gesture towards the wall as he stomped over to the window that took up one side of the room and flopped down on a bench that looked like it had been turned into a berth.  
  
At the gesture, Rung finally took his optics off Sunstreaker to examine the room.  
It appeared to be an observation lounge somewhere overlooking the aft section of the ship. There were clear signs it had not been used as an observation deck in some time, refuse and boxes Sunstreaker hadn't cleared away that were not his.  
  
The window taking up half the room let in glow from the engines, providing an odd sort of moody lighting that was... rather appealing.  
As Rung turned to the wall Sunstreaker had gestured at, his mouth opened slightly.  
The whole wall was covered in images. Somewhere, the golden mech had managed to find a range of paint colours, and with them he had covered the wall in a haphazard mural, painted by the looks of it with his bare servos.  
  
The work was not the ordered, lauded paintings Rung knew to be Sunstreaker's public work.  
It was instead a mess of scenes, flowing into one another without being a part of one another.  
A landscape from earth... another of old Cybertron's crystal city... what looked like a fuzzy image of the pits of Kaon mid battle from a fighter's point of view... what looked like a picture of Sideswipe half turned to look at the viewer, the silhouette of two humans, the smiling face of Ironhide, a greyed out frame in pieces... and through everything there were these wires, cables, threading through, around and over indiscernible images between the defined scenes.  
Every wire led to the middle of the wall, to a circle in which sat two fuzzy blue balls, squashed tight in their tiny space, surrounded by black and cables.  
  
Rung moved closer, focussing in on the two blue dots. When he was standing directly in front of them, he reached out a servo to touch... tracing the very subtle, delicate details of what had looked at first like careless splotches.  
But no... they were sparks. Two sparks crammed together.  
A representation of the twin spark Sunstreaker shared with Sideswipe?  
Rung turned back to Look at Sunstreaker, hunched on his bench as if exhausted, silhouetted against the window.  
Bob had moved to stare up at his master, audial protrusions flicking and lowered as he made a plaintive sort of whine.  
Sunstreaker reached a heavy servo out to pat him.  
  
"He was afraid I'd try to kill myself if he left me alone."  
the golden mech murmured as Rung moved over to sit on the end of the bench, looking out the window.  
"Who was?"  
  
"Ironhide. He didn't say it. He said it to Trion and didn't mean for me to hear. That's why he got Bob. He wanted something to keep me company... keep me distracted."  
The golden mech's vocaliser was laced with static, telling Rung just how little he'd used it to be straining it already from such little use as their conversation.  
"I thought briefly about calling him Hunter but... couldn't do it. Went with an Earth name because 'Hide suggested it and thought it was funny."  
  
"That sounds about right to me. Ironhide has seen... far too many young mechs take their own lives over the course of the war to not be expecting and trying to prevent it where he can." The peach and cream mech explained quietly, scratching Bob's helm as the insecticon unceremoniously moved out from under Sunstreaker's unresponsive servo to flop his helm on Rung's lap.  
  
"Without him here I don't... I'm not sure what i should be doing. I just knew I couldn't stay on Cybertron. Not with all those mechs reminding me what I did to them and trying to get me to talk."  
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Should have known when i saw you on board that I wouldn't escape having to 'talk' eventually."  
  
"What you haven't talked much about is how you felt about the fact you had to, essentially, save yourself." Rung mentioned quietly.  
He looked over at the golden mech, who stared resolutely out the window, once again trying to effect his emotional mask.  
  
"Do I even need to? I made a deal with the Decepticons to let them kill any and all humans they wanted. If that doesn't say how i felt about them abandoning me, i don't know what else to tell you."  
  
"What that tells me is that you were hurt, and you didn't know how to express that short of lashing out."  
"I never meant to hurt any of ours. Never. I just... I hated that planet, those humans, so much... It was them I wanted to hurt.. Just them."  
  
"On the contrary... I think perhaps you were prepared to hurt the others in your unit as well. Essentially... you were damaged, you suffered, greatly, and after it all you were not given any indication that they cared enough to find you. So you made them all feel what you felt."  
Sunstreaker stood suddenly and moved away, pacing, fists clenching and unclenching.  
His engine rumbled, half in aggravation, half in distress.  
Rung sat quietly, watching and waiting for the backlash. He'd hit a deep diode and he knew it.  
Eventually Sunstreaker walked towards his mural, optics dark, and snarled, punching one of the more shadowy figures in the corner Rung had missed.  
He wasn't sure how he'd missed it, the blue optics standing out vividly.  
Sunstreaker punched Optimus' face numerous times, until energon spattered the wall and he didn't remove his fist, resting his forehelm against the bulkhead, fans whirring harshly in the ensuing silence.  
  
Bob had moved to cower under the berth-bench, but Rung hadn't even flinched.  
He waited patiently for Sunstreaker to sort out his emotional responses. It was a full three kliks before the golden mech spoke.  
  
"I thought I'd gotten used to it. But it was different to me and Sides getting abandoned by our creators. I got over that a long time ago, we were sparked to be a product, that's what we were to them. I accepted that. I accepted I wasn't important enough within the army to waste resources on, but i wasn't... prepared for no one caring. No one but Sideswipe, and then the first thing he says to me... the first thing he wants to talk about is Hunter. I thought he'd get it... thought he knew me better than the others but he was just the same. And Optimus..."  
  
He snarled, grinding his abused fist against the painted face, now impressively dented and energon spattered, benign blue optics captured so realistically in paint staring out impassionately.  
"He's supposed to be the symbol of what we stand for. The mech with endless compassion and ability to accept, forgive, absolve. He didn't have time for me. I didn't matter to him, was't important to him. And I could live with that too, if he'd just... said SOMETHING. Anything... just a 'sorry we couldn't find you' or just 'Are you going to be okay'. Everything that happened, and he just... didn't care."  
  
He let his servo fall from the wall and leant back, looking down at his dented knuckle joints, two out of alignment and aching to pit. He embraced the pain. It was easy. It felt like the Pits. Pits had been so much easier. Fight to survive, had to survive, no questioning it, not like now...  
  
"I realised after a while that not only was I not important to the Autobot cause, I was unwanted. I was a burden. That's when I just... stopped trying I guess. Really I just wished I'd snuffed it under Ratchet's scalpel like Hunter. When the bridge happened and the swarm was coming after everyone... I saw my chance, and I took it. I'd been looking for it. I didn't do it to save them, I did it to save me."  
  
Rung had dealt with many a suicidal patient. He had learnt a certain amount of detachment was necessary. But he was not cold sparked... that would be very counter productive to his profession.  
And Sunstreaker... was one of the more tragic cases. And he felt his spark ache for the mech, less from what he was telling him, and more because he knew how hard it was for Sunstreaker to voice it. After all, the mech had internalised it to his end. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had survived what he had.  
  
It was perhaps... unfortunate in a way that he HAD survived it, but then Rung did not discount the will of Primus. He had seen a lot of misplaced faith in his time, and much that made him wonder how any higher being could allow such terrible suffering, but Sunstreaker's survival against the odds had to mean something. There had to be some cosmic purpose behind it, and he liked to hope that perhaps it was so the mech could enjoy some form of healing and coming to terms with himself enough to find peace.  
  
"If you were to meet Optimus again, is there anything you think you'd like to say to him?" Rung asked softly.  
The golden mech turned slightly to him, arms limp by his sides.  
"...No. I don't... want to see him. If i do, I'll probably just try to avoid him. I want to forget."  
  
"These paintings look more like a reminder than an attempt to forget." He observed neutrally.  
"I said I WANT to forget, not that I CAN. I just... I need to know what I am now. That's why this is here. This me... attempting to understand what I'm supposed to do now. There are things i need to remind myself of so I don't..."  
  
"Become someone you don't like?" Rung supplied when Sunstreaker trailed off into a lengthy silence, making no sign he knew how to finish that train of thought.  
The frontliner gave a non committal sort of noise that Rung took as a yes.  
"That is a good thing. You are fully aware of what your experiences have done to you. You are clearly making an effort not to turn into something you dislike. You know... that extreme narcissism I saw in you so many vorns ago... is probably the thing that is working to keep you from becoming something you dislike."  
  
Sunstreaker snorted and turned his helm fully to look at the psychiatrist with smouldering optics.  
"You mean I'm saved by my ego?... Lucky me." His tone was wry, but he wandered back over, tension drained from him once more to be replaced with a weariness to rival that which Ratchet displayed.  
  
"That doesn't help my sociopathic behavioural tendencies." he murmured as he sat heavily on the berth, Bob poking his helm out from underneath to look at him with big, over-bright optics.  
"Perhaps not. But you know you are not a mech without skill, clearly". He gestured lightly at the mural. "And I know that art is not your only skill at that. You are by no means a useless mech, or a burden."  
"Maybe not here." Sunstreaker consented in a murmur.  
  
Rung took a chance, reaching out to lay his servo on the frontliner's shoulder, getting only a mild flinch in return and a slightly quizzical look.  
"As far as I am concerned, you are not a useless mech anywhere. And you know as well as I that Ironhide would agree. It is important to remember when you are surrounded by those who do not know you that you still have the support of those that do."  
  
To even the peach and cream mech's surprise, the tiniest, barest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of Sunstreaker's mouth.  
Rung smiled softly in return and stood to leave, sensing that most of his work was done for today, but he was caught around the wrist by a servo.  
  
He looked at Sunstreaker, slightly surprised but inviting him to say whatever it was he clearly needed to.  
The golden mech opened his mouth, closed it, looked away, and cycled his vents  before speaking without looking at him.  
  
"Stay a while?... I'm... tired of being alone. It... I can't stop myself from... thinking, when it's just me."  
Rung nodded understandingly and sat back down, entertaining Bob with scritches again as his lap was promptly filled with insecticon head.  
  
"So...why this room? It seems rather nice, but I'm wondering why it is not still used as an observation deck." Rung asked curiously, looking around.  
"Oh, there was a huge energon spatter across the wall I painted on and remains of a long-dead mech in the corner. It looked like one of the spark-eaters former victims, I incinerated the frame and painted over the stain, I figured no-one else would want this room anyway if they knew."  
Rung gave him a queasy look. "Ah...I see... um... I think it's very safe to say you are right." He shuddered to remember the whole episode with the spark-eater, and Sunstreaker seemed to realise his discomfort belatedly with a slightly apologetic look.  
  
"Oh, yea... heard about what Rodimus did. Want me to punch him for you? I actually hate the guy."  
"No no... that's quite alright. I'm... no big fan of his either. To his credit, his plan was a good one, but it was wholly unnecessary for him to not just tell me what he wanted. I would have jumped out of the way in time."  
  
Rung noticed Sunstreaker absently rubbing his damaged fist as he sought a change of subject.  
"You should probably go to Ratchet and get that servo seen to soon. I'm sure you know him better than I, but I get the impression he does not suffer mechs to leave their injuries for a long time before going to him. I've been hearing stories about his accuracy with wrenches at a distance."  
  
Sunstreaker smirked, looking the energon coated, dented plating over with mild interest.  
"Yeah. We used to joke he should have been a sniper. We'dve won the war in a vorn if he was."  
  
"I sense that you have many stories concerning your old CMO... I wouldn't mind hearing them if you'd indulge me."  
Sunstreaker gave him a bemused look and nodded, launching into a particularly infamous story about the effectiveness of Ratchet's wrath on interrupting Decepticons during a field operation, Bob leaking mouth lubricants over Rung's thigh as he absently scratched behind an audial protrusion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trailbreaker's got a grudge, and Sunstreaker's not doing as well as he'd hope after offloading to Rung. Throw bootleg moonshine into the mix, and you've got trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, IDK, this little ficlet keeps evolving in my head, so this chapter popped out in two days and takes it all down dreary lane, and I had to put warnings all over this shit cause my head always has to go there *shrug*.
> 
> Can probably also keep blaming MTMTE #6 because that gave me Tool!Trailbreaker to play with.
> 
> Trailbreaker, you're a great big bag of dicks, and i'm totally cool with that.

Sunstreaker sat alone in the corner. Well, alone except for Bob, who was sprawled happily over his pedes.  
He was starting to like Swerve. Swerve was loud, obnoxious, nothing he said was worth listening to, so he made great background noise to drown out Sunstreakers thoughts.  
  
Even better, he didn’t ask too many questions of him, and he didn’t limit his Engex consumption. The stuff was potent as any bootleg slag the golden mech had gotten in Kaon, and he had enough credits stashed in remotely accessible accounts to pay for as much as he pleased.  
  
Which is what he did, quietly drinking himself into oblivion.  
Since talking with Rung, he had not been feeling better. Actually, he’d felt worse, because the lid was off the jar, and his memories tended to jump to the surface with very little prompting.  
  
As a result he’d done a lot of painting to try and purge it from himself, but now he was finding it nearly impossible to recharge. When he tried, he got in maybe a few breems to a cycle before the replays began.  
He’d discovered a decent overcharge could mute the memories enough to allow a little more recharge, so he frequented the place a little more often.  
  
He took the fact no one questioned this or acted concerned for his welfare as a sign it was probably the best solution.  
Anyway, he saw the same crowd in there so often he guessed that they thought he was doing what they were… enjoying the place as much as possible before Magnus got wind of it.  
  
Occasionally he spoke to whoever sat their aft down at his table. It was mostly just bots he didn’t know trying to see if he was like what the mechs he’d served with painted him as.  
Sunstreaker was honestly indifferent to their opinion. He didn’t need their approval, and he wasn’t going to be a different mech to try and gain the ‘friendship’ from mechs he honestly didn’t find a liking for.  
  
So far his favourite  was Cyclonus… because Cyclonus had made no attempt to talk to him other than necessary pleasantries, and he didn’t make any indication that they need be any more familiar than a simple head nod of recognition on sight.  
  
Odd how he’d probably trust Cyclonus at his back in a fight more than anyone he’d spoken actual sentences with.  
The again, the mech may feel no obligation to HAVE his back in a fight, so it was just as well he had Bob, he supposed.  
  
He reached down to scritch the insecticon on the helm, getting a pleased rumble in response.  
He swirled the blue liquid in his glass and looked into it, automatically analysing the hue and working out what paints would most accurately match it.  Noting the way the light of it bounced off the surface of the table.  
  
He took a swig and let his eyes rest on the table, unfocussed.   
“Enjoying yourself, huh?”   
Sunstreaker didn’t bother going to the trouble of lifting his helm and focussing his optics.  
He recognised Trailbreakers voice. The mech was overcharged too. As badly as him. Though he wasn’t sure how, since the black mech tended to gesture a lot, which meant half his drink exited the glass without entering his tanks.  
  
“I was.” He murmured neutrally, taking another sip and getting a look at Trailbreaker as he tipped his helm back. On his pedes, he felt Bob shift a little.  
“So, sell anyone else out lately?” the Black bot slurred roughly.  
“No, sacrifice yourself to a horde of insecticons lately?” He sniped back coldly.  
  
“Don’t act like that was any big favour. Once a traitor, always a traitor.” The mech countered sourly, jabbing his finger at Sunstreakers faceplates.  
“Oh, OK. Dying once isn’t repentance enough. Well, I’m here, how ‘bout you shoot me and make it twice. That should do it, right? Just don’t miss, I like the job done properly.” He sat back, arms open and faceplate set in a hard, defiant expression.  
  
Trailbreaker seemed to seriously consider it for a moment before scowling, lips twisting into a sneer.  
“Don’t tempt me. You don’t get off that easy.”  
“Obviously.” Sunstreaker rumbled, disappointed as he picked up his glass and slogged the rest back.  
  
“You don’t even care, do you?” Trailbreaker snarled, fist clenching against the tabletop as the golden mech fixed that blank, cold look on him again.  
“Not that I feel like I have to explain myself, but I didn’t do it because I wanted the Cons to kick our skid plates. I did it to the humans. And I never said I was smart for thinking Starscream upheld bargains.”  
  
“You’ve got slag for processors if you think I believe you gave a flying piston about the rest of us. No one is that dumb, you knew exactly what Screamer would do with that information.” the defence specialist  scoffed.  
“Amazing what anger does to your rationality circuits. Anyway, don’t cry at me about it, I gave you your option. Kill me or go get an appointment with Rung, I’m not here to make you feel better about it.”  
  
“How bout I see how long it takes to kill you with my fists in your face?” Trailbreaker stood, looming over Sunstreaker, and immediately jerked back with a yelp as Bob rammed his shins, clicking furiously and making a loud buzzing sound with the plating on his back.  
“Down boy.” Sunstreaker murmured absent mindedly.   
  
“Hey hey, ‘Breaker, better watch your step, I hear  Bob can get mighty frisky when he latches onto your legs, better keep em’ outta his reach.” Swerve popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, and Sunstreaker had to admit it was the first time he was actually HAPPY to have him up close.  
Obviously he’d seen trouble a mile off and was intervening to make sure nothing happened to bring attention to his establishment from the higher ups.  
  
The fact he disguised it with ridiculous banter told the golden mech that Swerve really had found his calling in running a bar.  
Trailbreaker gave Sunstreaker and Bob a last, filthy look before stalking away.  
“What was under his plati- Oh, wait, that was about that thing you did huh? Ouch… need another drink? Same as usual? I’ll put it on your tab.”  
  
The golden twin didn’t even have to say a word, nodding to Swerve as he leant heavily on the table, hanging his helm and watching Trailbreaker out of the corner of his eye as he rejoined Blaster, Powerglide, Inferno and Hound in the opposite corner.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
By the time the golden mech was ready to leave, Inferno and Hound had long gone, visibly less and less able to deal with Trailbreaker’s sour mood.  
The black mech had gotten more and more aggravated as the cycles had stretched on, and it seemed from the looks Powerglide was giving his companion that even he was a little unsettled by the normally mellow mech’s attitude when overcharged.  
  
“Ooookaaaay Bob. Leeets go.” Sunstreaker was exceptionally good at walking straight while nearly blind drunk, but he knew he’d only get about halfway to his quarters before he fell flat on his faceplate.  
Which was where a neat little trick he’d taught his insecticompanion came in handy.  
  
He attached Bob’s lead to the stud on the bots collar fairing, then linked the other end to his bumper, and transformed in the hallway.  
Enthusiastically, Bob scrabbled against the decking, getting purchase and dragging his master home.  
Mechs still stopped on the edges of the hall to stare in puzzled amusement as the Lamborghini was towed along by the Insecticon.  
  
All he had to do was steer so he didn’t hit the walls… too much. Eventually they got to the right corridor, and he needed to change up to enter his code.  
His transformation was sluggish, and he managed to snag the lead in something.  
“Fffffraggin’ slagger bloody pit spawn-”  
As he finished yanking it out of his wheel-well, Bob whirred and hissed.  
By the time Sunstreaker had looked at him to see what the matter was and turned around to face whoever was coming, he got shoved to the floor  on his back with a loud clang.  
  
Bob made an angry shrieking noise as he attempted to defend his master and found himself blocked by an invisible force.  
Sunstreaker recognised the feeling, having been restrained like this when being subdued from a broken up fist fight more than once.  
“What the SLAG Trailbreaker?”   
  
“What the slag do you THINK?” The black mech rumbled, stomping slowly down the hall to loom over the pinned warrior.  
Either Trailbreaker held his engex well, or he really hadn’t gotten as much IN him as Sunstreaker thought, because he was coherent enough to keep his field generator going without it faltering or fluctuating.  
“Don’t you think it’s about time someone gave you a little payback?”  
  
“You’re still on about that?” Sunstreaker growled, gritting his denta against one another as the force field was rippled across his throat tubing in a warning press.  
The ripples moved out across his frame, concentrating, narrowing to pin just his legs and arms.  
The golden mech snarled up at Trailbreaker, optics flashing when the mech raised an arm laser, but he didn’t point it at his pinned quarry.  
  
A shot put an end to the high pitched screeching behind him and Sunstreaker’s head snapped back.   
“BOB!”  
“Relax, he’s stunned. No point killing him, not his fault he’s your _friend_.”  
The frontliner took his optics off the lump of spiky yellow and purple to glare at Trailbreaker as the defence specialist loomed over him.  
He struggled, but he really had no means to break the field’s hold.  
  
 “Funny, you care more about a dumb bug than anyone you shed energon with.” Trailbreaker’s faceplate contorted into an ugly, bitter scowl and Sunstreaker felt another field ripple, concentrating in on his shoulder joints.  
He grunted as pressure built in the joints, the field expanding between the gaps to slowly tear the mechanisms apart.  
“You think this is worse?” He spat, the overcharge and pain making his helm swim and his optics flicker.  
“Than what? What we suffered from your betrayal? Oh no, this is just a ta-”  
“Than what those _filthy meat bags_ did to me.” Sunstreaker snarled.  
At that, the pressure held, Trailbreaker seeming to digest that information slowly.  
  
Sunstreaker cried out, engine whining as the force field was expanded explosively in the joints before dissipating.  
He refreshed his fritzing optics a few times, shoulder joints both having made sick popping and cracking sounds as they were wrenched open and ruined.  
“You’re… pretty s-slagging sick when you wanna be… Breaker. Could almost… believe you were… a pits mech… like me.” He rasped as he cycled air hard, adjusting to the agony and getting control of it.  
  
“So you think because you suffered… the rest of us had to as well, huh?” Trailbreaker rumbled, accent broad with the effect of the engex.  
“And you figure torturing me some more will put me straight?” Sunstreaker snarled back coldly.  
He cried out as pressure suddenly exploded through his knee joints, shattering them both and making his engine gutter.  
“No, but it sure as pit makes me feel better.” the black mech growled.  
With his arms and legs handicapped by the injuries, Sunstreaker felt the force field narrowed in to simply keep him pinned to the floor. Less effort for Trailbreaker, and much easier for him to uphold indefinitely with his overcharge of fuel.  
  
The defence specialist moved forward, looking Sunstreaker up and down with darkened visor, standing with his pedes either side of golden hips and crouching slowly, the pressure increasing over Sunstreaker’s chest plates.  
The frontliner, hissing his ex-vents through his denta as he tried to suppress the excruciating pain of his exploded joints, grunted as his windshield cracked under the force field pressure.  
  
Trailbreaker’s engine revved angrily, and the pressure slowly began to dent the golden chest plates, right in the centre of his auto brand.  
“I could put a field around your spark and crush it y’know. Or just slowly constrict it and disrupt the natural pulse rate until it went into shock and collapsed… flash out… I hear that’s an excruciatingly painful way to die.” Trailbreaker murmured quietly, as if merely observing these things out-loud to himself.  
  
“So why don’t you already?” Sunstreaker spat, optics a little paler and brighter than usual.  
“Because I’m not a Decepticon. I’m better than that.” He rumbled, petulant tone underscored by the tiniest hint of hesitance.  
“Oh sure, ngh!… because torturing… a defenceless mech… is totally Autobot- AGH!”  
The golden mech panted, letting out small keens as he reeled from the sudden wrench against his chest plates where Trailbreaker had ripped out his Autobrand with his force field.  
  
“So on a scale from one to humans, how am I doing so far?” the black mech sneered.  
Sunstreaker struggled to get his engine under control, twitching slightly from the near-overwhelming barrage of pain signals from all points of his frame.  
“Sorry… Br-reaker… you’ll never… ha-ave anything on those… pit-slag spawned… flesh bags…”  
“Of course… because they didn’t just hurt you, did they? They got _inside_ you… messed with your head… well guess what, that’s how it felt for us… Prime nearly died ‘cause of you. Lotta mechs shattered by you, in _here_.”   
He jabbed his chest plates. “And in _here_.” He tapped his helm, engine whining slightly as it revved high with emotion.  
  
“The distrust that infected us nearly tore us all apart. You know how it felt? We felt violated… I think I know how to share that feeling with you…”  
Sunstreaker’s optics widened as he felt pressure on his codpiece, giving a strangled cry as an internal expanding field popped it off.  
“Breaker… don’t… you’re overcharged. You’re not like this. You’re going to regret it when you sober u-”  
Sunstreaker grunted, vocaliser hissing with feedback as a micro-field paralysed it.  
  
“Don’t tell me how I’m going to feel as if you give a DAMN SLAG!” He snarled, baring his denta angrily, lip-plates squealing from being contorted in rage.  
The muted mech gave him a last, intense look and shook his helm.  
Trailbreaker growled and pulsed a field into the exposed valve, over-expanding the sensor-laden lining and causing the mech beneath him to convulse in agony, silenced by his other field concentration.  
  
He mercilessly pulsed the field in the valve, as if pounding a far too large object into the golden mech, violating him hard and deep, and where it would hurt the most.  
He heard lining tear, knew he’d crushed a few nodes, and only stopped once he heard the socket at the top of the port dislodge.  
He had watched Sunstreaker’s face with a painful sort of satisfaction the whole time, a knot of cold conviction forming in his tank.  
  
Sunstreaker had purged his engex laden tanks the moment his valve had torn, and Trailbreaker let him turn his helm, looking behind once he was done to see a decent trickle of energon coming from the shattered interface equipment.  
  
“Guess it’ll be a while before you can bend over and take a frag from your pet over there.” he sneered, giving a short, cold laugh and standing, looking over his handiwork.  
“And in case you were wondering, I turned the camera that watched this hall when I came down, so don’t think Red Alert is going to be coming to help your sorry aft. You can send your little friend off to fetch Ratchet when he wakes up.”  
  
Sunstreaker’s frame still twitched and shuddered, systems in shock from the brutal, intense attack.   
He didn’t look at Trailbreaker, too busy shutting down parts of his emotional centre internally, most of his processing power spent on just handling and coping with the pain signals.  
The black mech crouched by his helm and grasped a helm fin, crushing it slightly and making Sunstreaker’s optics fritz as he forced him to meet his gaze.  
  
“You just remember this feeling… this is the feeling you brought down on every bot fighting on earth… every single one… If we had to live with it, so do you.”  
He released his helm, smacking it against the decking as he shoved away and walked off down the hall.  
  
~~~~  
  
Sunstreaker stared at the medbay ceiling, optics dim and faceplate blank.  
 _It still wasn’t as bad.  
It… was bad, but it still wasn’t AS bad…_  
“How you holding up?” Ratchet’s voice had taken on that same, weirdly careful tone around him again… the same one he’d used when he’d woken up after being separated from Hunter.  
He gave Ratchet a look and went back to staring at the ceiling.  
  
“First Aid tells me you refuse to name the mech that attacked you.”   
That was better. That held that old gruff, irritated edge of the REAL Ratchet.  
He didn’t have any response to that though, so he just shuttered his optics once.  
“You do realise I KNOW no mech but Trailbreaker could do this, right?”  
Again, not really something he could respond to, but he was feeling oddly soothed by how Ratchet was getting more and more agitated.   
  
Beside him, the old medic sighed, dragging over a stool and sitting heavily.   
Sunstreaker turned his helm to look at him, slightly curious, silently questioning Ratchet’s intention in making himself comfortable.  
The red and white mech merely returned his questioning gaze with a calculating one.  
“Look, I know bots are still angry at you for the Starscream thing… but you and I both know you’ve paid your  dues for that. Why’d you let him do this to you? You could have taken him, I mean… It’s Trailbreaker, not Grimlock.”  
  
“We were both slagged off our faceplates and he got the jump on me.” Sunstreaker rasped blandly, giving a minute shrug since any large movement of his shoulders sent blinding pain shooting up to his processor.  
He was in full traction to restrict movement as it was, mostly mag-locked to the med-berth to prevent him from ruining First-Aid’s tedious and half finished repairs that had taken the young medic all night cycle.  
“How’s Bob doing?”   
  
Ratchet sighed at the obvious question dodge, but answered anyway.   
“He’s fine, Hound took a look and declared his damage superficial. He‘s kinda sulky, but then he probably has a headache. Chromedome and Rewind volunteered to take care of him.”  
“Oh good, he likes them. Make sure they don’t feed him too many energon goodies though, or he’ll just get hyper and purge on them.”  
  
“Did he say anything to you? Or did he just attack you?”   
Sunstreaker gave Ratchet a rather exasperated look.  
“Why does it even matter? Aren’t you supposed to, y’know, be a bit more thoughtful with rape victims?”  
Ratchet scowled at him. “Yeah, except you already let me know how little you cared about that kind of violation several vorn ago. I know full well the resistances you build in the Pits, what I want to know is what frame of mind he was in to do something this slagging disgusting. He mighta been bottling his anger, and overchugged, but that doesn’t excuse ANYTHING he did to you. This is the sort of damage I might expect from Vortex, never mind just a regular Con, and certainly not an Autobot.”  
  
Sunstreaker cycled his vents in a sigh, staring up at the ceiling again and remaining silent.  
The medic gave a resigned huff.  
“Fine, fine, I get it. If you’re not gonna talk to me, you’re still going to have to talk to Rung you know.”  
He got up with a slight groan, pistons hissing in a familiar way that Sunstreaker found comforting.  
“I’m ok with that.” He murmured. In fact, he had a fair few questions for the psychiatrist. Like how the slag he was supposed to recharge now when his meta wouldn’t shut-up.  
  
“Well that’s great. You’ll talk to a bot you’re barely acquainted with, but not your CMO of how many millions of years who’s pulled your aft back from the brink how many times?”  
“Never said I didn’t appreciate that.” Sunstreaker responded quietly.  
Ratchet turned a slightly less irritated look on him. “Yeah, well… he’ll be in to see you in about a cycle or so. He’s talking to Trailbreaker in the brig at the moment.”  
  
The red and white mech fetched some tools and returned, settling down to work on the shattered joints, muttering now and then about the finicky damage and cursing out the defence specialist.  
“Ratchet?”  
“Hmmm?” He glanced at the golden mech.  
“You want me to paint those up for you when my arms are working again?”  
Sunstreaker nodded at the predominantly blue servos buried about six inches into his shoulder.  
Ratchet gave a soft rumble. “Yeah. That’d be good, thanks.”  
  
~~~~  
  
“He acted like he gave a slag about ME, when I wanted to make him hurt… as much as I could. What the slag is that even about? Some slaggy attempt to make me stop?”  
Rung made a note of the lack of conviction in Trailbreaker’s tone.  
The mech was clearly at a stage somewhere between horrible self-loathing and trying to justify what he’d done to himself.  
  
“Are you aware of his history as a gladiator?”  
Trailbreaker shifted at the question, grimace tightening slightly in confusion.  
“Yeah… every Bot and Con knows he and his brother were in the pits. What does that have to do with anything?”  
“Just go with me here… how much do you know about the pits? What the conditions were, what the fighters would do to one another while incarcerated there?”   
Another, more openly uncomfortable shift.  
  
“I heard… things. Never knew anything for certain, never went there. Knew one bot that was. He only talked about it when he was tanked. No one liked to stick around because… all he talked about were the horrible things he’d seen happening there.”  
“Did you ever hear him talk about the frequent rape that occurred? That was in fact forced upon unwilling participants as a form of entertainment for those with much looser morals?”   
Rung’s voice was calm and unaccusatory, but his gaze on Trailbreaker was sharp and pointed.  
  
“I… yeah, but…”  
There was a very uncomfortable pause in which the black mech floundered for some kind of footing, the topic throwing him as far as how he was supposed to respond.  
“I cannot reveal the history of my other patients, but you are an intelligent mech. I’m sure you can work out what I’m getting at here. Statistically, the likelihood that any mech who spent longer than an orn in the pits in Kaon was raped or forced to commit rape, or willingly committed it, is ninety-seven percent.”  
  
He let that figure sink in, a little colour leeching from Trailbreaker’s visor.  
“Now, in light of that, it may be concluded that you were not his first attacker in that capacity. It may also be possible that he was in a position similar to yours once, as an attacker. He and his brother were in there much longer than an orn. His… advice to you, was likely a genuine attempt to get you to reconsider for your OWN sake.”  
  
Trailbreaker buried his faceplate in his servos and shook his helm.  
“Not that you ought not to feel remorse for your actions, which it’s clear to me you do to some degree… but your attack was not something new to Sunstreaker.”  
“I… I still hate him… but I hate myself more… Primus, I’m lower than a Con…” He moaned into his servos, continuing to shake his helm, visor dim.  
  
“My advice is to let go of your hate for him. Keeping in mind he has been in your position before, how well do you think he likes himself?” Rung stated quietly, still watching Trailbreaker with impartial intent.  
The black bot dropped his servos from his faceplate and slumped with his elbows on his knees, the energon-bars of his brig cell throwing stark shadows across his grimacing faceplate.  
  
Rung sighed softly and stood, making a last note on his in-built display before folding it against his frame again.  
“I’ll be back for another talk tomorrow, at which time Ultra Magnus will also be present to assess your re-offence likelihood. If you wish to talk to me again before that, you can call for me, but I may have other patients to see first.”  
  
“Tell him… tell him I didn’t… I’m sorry.” Trailbreaker blurted as the psychiatrist walked just beyond his cell.  
Rung turned back momentarily to fix him with a neutral look.   
“I’m afraid you’ll have to tell him that yourself, for it to be truly meaningful Trailbreaker.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, and the point at which Sunstreaker realizes he's not going to be allowed to ignore his problems anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookaaaaay this is a short chapter. At least by my standards, but I decided, even though I intended to add more, to leave it where i finished last night. I don't want to make you wait for this any longer.
> 
> I started it ages ago on office 3 on my ipad, got 400 words in (Of pure dialogue gold) and didn't know when i turned off the screen to go in to the doctors office that it would wipe everything i'd done.
> 
> That is so demotivational i cannot even begin to tell you. So it took me until now to get up the heart to redo it. So yeah, anyway, enjoy hopefully, I don't know. This whole story is just an excuse for me to exorcise my Sunstreaker feels.
> 
> Also it's Samm neiland's fault, you should go buy his CD it's basically the soundtrack to this fic http://sammneiland.bandcamp.com/album/my-crooked-smile
> 
> P.S sorry my formatting is crazy as fuck i need to take myself back to school and relearn that shit because wat r paragrp strutrs i noe does not wut.

“So are you gonna actually talk to him, or just clam up and pretend everything is fine again?”

“Shut up.”

“I'm serious Sunstreaker. Don't do what you did when I gave you your body back, not when we've got a fully qualified-”  
“I said shut-up. Do you want me to finish this or not?”

“I can do it myself you know. It's just more of a hassle.”

“And nowhere near as well done, so either shut-up or change the subject, because I am not going there with you.”

 

Sunstreaker scowled as he ran his brush painstakingly carefully down Ratchet's servo. He knew Ratchet had turned his sensory feedback right down so his ministrations wouldn't effect him, but all the same he was exceedingly careful.

Medics servos were second to none, and he'd heard First Aid talking to the CMO about his... acquisition of these new ones.

 

Sunstreaker was certainly not one to judge when it came to cannibalising the parts of mechs living or dead. As far as he was concerned, Ratchet had been lucky as far as timing and circumstance went. He didn't know the full Delphi story, just that those involved did not want to talk about it.

 

Something he understood implicitly.

 

“You're not even gonna ask, are you?” Ratchet grunted, silently appreciating the care Sunstreaker took to not disrupt the mechanisms in his palms.

“About what?”

“How I get my aft so slagging shiny, what do you think?” The medic tilted his helm with a wry not-quite-smirk not-quite-grin on his faceplate, trying to get a look at Sunstreaker's features to gauge his response.

 

There was the ghost of a half-grin of amusement before the golden mech's features returned to neutral broodiness. “Hey, it's your business, but if you want tell me, I won't stop you.”

A half shrug and a few more deft but skilled strokes of the brush, turning blue to red.

 

“Not particularly interested in divulging the whole thing, no. I was just making an observation of YOUR lack of curiosity.” Ratchet murmured gruffly.

“So what, you don't want to talk about it but you want me to ask?” Sunstreaker glanced up, cocking an orbital ridge. “You sure you aren't actually looking for an excuse to tell someone? I just assumed whatever the plague was down there, it got one of the medics and you salvaged his servos. And that now you feel guilty for it or something.”

 

“Something like that. Except he was the head medic, a bot I trained, the creator of the plague and a traitor deliberately killing his patients to feed the leader of the DJD's transforming habit.”

“...So, no guilt then?”

“It's a little more complicated than that.” Ratchet answered with an edge of irritation.

 

Sunstreaker just shrugged lightly again. “Why don't YOU go to Rung then?”

“Professional courtesy.”

Sunstreaker looked up and gave him a confused and questioning look at that, the medic giving a small 'tch' of amusement.

 

“I'm a medic Sunstreaker. Our morality programming is notorious for winding us up into the tightest balls of conflicted coding that exist in a functional bot. I learnt a long time ago that prodding the knot is a dangerous affair, and unwinding it requires more than a light-weight therapist. And I mean that in a literal sense. 'Do no harm' is one of the worst codes of conduct to have in a millions of vorns long war. I need physical sparring partners to tackle my problems. Preferably mechs larger than me who can take a beating.”

 

Sunstreaker nodded in understanding. “And if he prodded your ball of fragged code clashes, I'm guessing he'd end up with a broken jaw?”

“Exactly. And he knows it. He has my old file from the psychologist who had the misfortune of finding out the hard way. I was prescribed specialised sessions for tackling the conflicts, but a psych has to evaluate suitable mechs for the job. As it is, I'm not due for another code de-tangling until the end of the vorn anyway.”

 

“Considering the events of Delphi, I would actually be stepping that up to now, but I do not want you damaging your new servos. We may have to find another method for tackling the code conflicts in the interim.” a calm voice floated across the ward.

Sunstreaker turned his helm to see Rung wandering down towards the desk they were sitting at, going back to concentrating on Ratchet's servos with a more pronounced scowl.

 

Rung looked unperturbed by the reaction, greeting Ratchet with a nod and a serene, if not muted smile.

“We can pause this and finish later if you wanted to see Sunstreaker now.” Ratchet said politely, with an edge of apprehension as to the frontliner's reaction.

 

“Oh, no, that's alright, you can finish what you're doing, there's no hurry. I'd actually like to stay and watch... if that's alright with you both... I'm just interested to see you work Sunstreaker.”

The golden mech's frown dropped, replaced by a puzzled look as he glanced up at Rung, considering him for a moment.

It looked to the psychiatrist for a moment as if he'd ask why, but then he just shrugged and went back to his neutral grimace.

 

Ratchet nodded to a chair over by a berth and Rung pulled it over to sit at the end of the desk, leaning back in a very relaxed manner and lacing his digits in his lap.

“I know it must seem odd for me to want to watch you paint servos, it's just I'm interested in your technique. I dabble in painting myself with my models, I sort of hoped I might... well, learn something.”

 

“Doubt it, but whatever.” Sunstreaker murmured, detailing the joints of the thumb with deft precision, not looking up at Rung as the mech smiled gently.

“How is your collection? It's gotten quite beat up in the short time we've been jovially hiking about the galaxy.” Ratchet asked with wry humour to his tone.

 

“Oh, it's all in tact. Well... I put it back together, but Primus only knows how long that will last.” He sighed.

Sunstreaker let the meaningless banter between the other two waft over his helm, concentrating on his task with single minded determination and patience.

 

He kept his processor distracted and occupied by concentrating on keeping the paint a good consistency (too little thinner and the texture streaked, too much and he'd have to apply another coat), and making sure he covered all the parts evenly, careful not to let the paint run down into joints or coat wires,. This was why servos were better painted by... well, servo. Airbrush was fast and easy, but it was hard to stop the paint from getting into joints, or drying between them and reducing flexibility.

 

Of course, Wheeljack had developed a paint that was supposed to be 'smart' and didn't stick joints or chip easily, but they had none on board, so old fashioned enamel was their only option.

Sunstreaker had finished Ratchet's left servo, and was just completing the palm of the right when he realised he was being addressed and looked up.

 

“Sorry, I didn't realise you were lost in thought... I was just wondering how your repairs were going? I meant to come and check on you in the morning when I heard what happened, but I ended up having to talk Whirl down from disgorging Xaaron.” Rung asked, polite and apologetic. Sunstreaker noted he'd moved closer, elbows on the desk and fingers laced together under his chin.

 

Unsure if the mech was trying to subtly analyse him or genuinely just interested for the sake of being nice, he decided to indulge him. “Fine.”

 

Well. Indulge him as much as he would anyone else. He was sure the mech would understand. That was basically his function after all. Since their lengthy interaction in his 'quarters' about an orn ago, he'd had time to over-analyse their conversation, and now was as lost about how to talk to him as he'd always been, his processor treating the mech like a hostile yet to prove he was trustworthy.

 

“Good, I didn't think Ratchet would take long to have you good as new.” He gave another of his serene smiles, as if genuinely pleased Sunstreaker was once again physically whole.

The golden mech wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, but he wasn't about to correct him, even though Ratchet had yet to fix his valve simply because he was having Perceptor tool out a few components for it they didn't have.

And there was also the grey patch welded over where his Autobot symbol had been, but he wasn't about to talk about that either.

 

“What ratio are you using for the thinner?”

The question was such a sharp change of tack that Sunstreaker took a moment to answer, even though the number was etched into his processor. “One point two five six parts in three. Enough to smooth, not enough to require more than one coat.” he responded deftly.

 

“Ah, I see. I tend to use rounded amounts, usually three in seven parts, I do need it quite thin, and I tend to do double coats. Triple for the highlights.” The orange and cream mech responded sedately, making Sunstreaker faintly uneasy with how intently he watched his servos work.

 

He usually hated gawking spectators when he was working. Critical analysis of his technique didn't make him feel any better about having an audience, but he tolerated it since the mech didn't comment or ask too many questions.

 

They sat in silence for a while, and Sunstreaker felt a little awkward. He wasn't sure if Rung had mentioned paint to try and get him to start talking about art, or if he was just expecting him to keep the conversation going with something like some sort of tag team interaction, but he was not about to play ball on that front. Conversation was not his strong point. And frankly, he hated when mechs tried to fill silence with unnecessary noise when there was really nothing worth wasting words over.

 

He chanced a sidelong look at the psychiatrist, who's helm was slightly tilted, his gaze intent on what Sunstreaker was doing. Huh. Maybe he actually was just interested in absorbing technique. He certainly didn't look like he was expecting conversation, so the golden mech relaxed and let his focus narrow back down to his work again.

 

He noticed Rung and Ratchet starting up another conversation between them at some point, but

didn't pay any attention as to the subject matter, carefully detailing the rest of the servo as he had the first. It came as something of a surprise to him when he realised he was done.

 

“I'm glad I took you up on this Sunstreaker. Hopefully I won't have to be touching them up as often as I figured. Guess I should stick them under the curing lamp for a while and let you two go. You're not cleared completely from the medbay though, so when you're done, you'll have to come back. Extra parts should be ready by then, but repairs will have to wait till tomorrow, since I don't want to wreck your work here.” Ratchet rose with a soft grunt and a grateful smile at the frontliner, who looked up at him a bit dumbly, as if he was not quite understanding the instructions.

 

He snapped back to himself and nodded, scowling slightly as he realised his time was up and he was cornered now by the psychiatrist. He packed away the tools and slowly, carefully cleaned his brushes.

Rung waited patiently, watching Ratchet wander off after he'd told him he'd be looking into a session with him and someone who could possibly assist with his coding clashes.

 

Sunstreaker stood resignedly when he had no more excuses to stall, forcing down the flinch from the twinge in his valve and joints. Ratchet would have turned the interfacial unit's pain receptors off at least, but old, deep damage to his charge generator prevented that. The sensations were dulled, but all his ruined equipment was still online, patch welds and staples the only thing making it so he could walk around. Well, that and his joints had been pieced back together with the help of a short soak in the re-gen tank.

 

Movement was slow and awkward. He gave Rung a resigned, expectant look. “Where are we doing this?”

The smaller mech had been looking Sunstreaker over a little critically, eyebrows knitted in concern at the way the larger mech moved. Sunstreaker, he had observed, normally moved with a fluidity that belied his ability to excel in hand-to-hand.

 

The stark change due to his injuries spoke volumes to Rung in terms of what the mech had been through.  
“I think Ratchet was expecting me to drag you off to my office, but I thought before I came that it might be a bit far to walk considering your recent repairs. So I popped in to see First Aid before I came in and he gave me this.” He went through the medbay doors and retrieved what he'd left outside, which turned out to be a wheelchair.

 

Sunstreaker just gave him a look, as if unsure how serious the mech was. If he was trying to be funny in a really wrong way, he was... well, sort of doing it right.  
Rung seemed to notice his less than willing reaction and offered an apologetic look.

 

“I'm sorry, I know you pretty much just got out of one of these, and this one is not even as high tech, but it is the most practical means of getting to a more comfortable place to talk. It doesn't have to be my office, we can go to your quarters if you'd prefer?”

 

“Honestly, I'm good to walk y'kn-”

“Get in the damn chair or I’ll magnalock you to a berth before you can open up any of the microfractures or welds still healing in your joints.” Ratchet called from his office.

Sunstreaker scowled and threw a dirty look at the office door before shuffling over and lowering himself gingerly into the chair, Rung looking like he was both trying to look apologetic and not laugh.

 

Wearing his best 'I will kill you if you speak to me' scowl, he let Rung wheel him out into the corridors. “So, any preference of location?” the mild voice floated over him, at odds with his mood.  
“Whatever is closer.”

Sunstreaker kept his optics fixed ahead as they turned a corner and passed Hoist and Grapple, both of whom stopped abruptly in their conversation when they saw him. Rung diffused their shock with a pleasant smile and greeting, and both had the decency to respond in kind and not comment on the golden mech's state, or try to engage him.

 

The story was similar with whoever else they passed, and the frontliner's expression only softened to confusion when he realised they were not headed directly for Rung's office. “Hey, where are we going?”

 

“Mmm? Ah, just swinging by the hab suites, won't be long, we just have someone to pick up.” Rung answered in the same serene tone as usual.

“Pick someone up? I thought this was supposed to be a session, you don't bring other mech in on-”

Sunstreaker was cut off mid sentence by a load whirring and clicking as they turned another corner.

 

Bob came bounding down the corridor, dragging Chromedome behind him, the mnemosurgeon apparently having given up trying to control him and letting him drag him around while he sat back on his pede wheels. He gave them both a wave, coming to a neat stop when Bob reached Sunstreaker and leapt up to paw at him with a high pitched keening sound.

 

The golden mech flinched, but made no move to push Bob away, instead he embraced the insecticon and scritched behind his audials eagerly, rumbling a few words of greeting and praise to the giant bug-bot as it clicked and whirred and nuzzled his chin furiously.

Sunstreaker didn't even notice he was smiling until he looked up and Chromedome was giving him a slightly surprised look.

 

“Hey... thanks for looking after him.”

“No problem. But he uh... sorry if he's still a little hyper, he uses those optics on Rewind, and Rewind can't help giving him treats, and he sort-of threw up once today already but he seems ok?”

“Yeah, he does that. He'll be fine, his tank's just not used to too much rich fuel.”

“Ah, OK. Well, we're happy to bug-sit any time, but Rewind may or may not attempt to train him to be his 'steed.'”  
Sunstreaker snorted at that and gave him a wry grin. “That I'd like to see. You guys can take him for walks whenever you want y'know. Seriously, thank you.”

 

Chromedome seemed even more surprised by Sunstreaker's thanks than he was by the fact he'd smiled. The broad shouldered bot waved him, Rung and Bob off cheerfully before wandering away to whatever duties he had.

Rung steered Sunstreaker towards his office, Bob trotting along beside them happily, making content little chirrs and snuffling at the wheelchair curiously.

 

When he was wheeled into Rung's office, Sunstreaker was reminded by the very atmosphere of the place just what they were there to do, and his buoyed mood dissipated quickly. Bob picked up on the change of mood almost instantly, having become very tuned in to his master's field in their time together.

 

He whined softly and pawed at a pede as if to ask what was wrong, Sunstreaker simply scritching him on the helm in reassurance.

“You can remain in the chair or move to the berth, if you'd prefer? Whatever is more comfortable, but no standing since I'm fairly sure Ratchet would be cross with me for letting you strain your repairs.” Rung was polite as ever, positioning him in the middle of the room or thereabouts so he could wheel himself easily to wherever it was he wanted to go.

Sunstreaker nodded in way of response and made his way over to the berth, standing from the chair to carefully lay himself on it with an ex-vent of relief.

 

The Psychiatrist cleared a few things from his desk into drawers, picking up one to take with him, as well as his model of Ark-1. He then moved to sit in the chair beside the berth, glancing at Sunstreaker to see if he was comfortable or if he'd wound himself up against the prospect of what they were going to talk about.

 

He seemed a little apprehensive... probably more dreading than anything else, but physically he was not tense. He seemed exhausted. Something about the defeated sort of way he let his limbs rest, like he didn't have the strength to place them comfortably and let them fall however they would.  
“Are you fuelling regularly?” He asked curiously, receiving an upside-down look of slight confusion.

 

“I collect every drop of ration I get. Gotta feed Bob too.”

“Wait... you feed him his own ration, or you take it out of yours?”

The confused look only deepened. “Only get one ration between us.”

Rung frowned, consulting the pad in his servo and poking at it a few times. “Well that can't be right... how much do you give him?”

“Half. He needs it or he starts chewing cables and generators, and I don't want them to throw him off the ship, gotta keep him fed up enough that he doesn't do that.”

 

Bob, as if sensing he was the subject, put his front legs up on the berth and tilted his helm at Sunstreaker, who petted him. The insecticon purred and plopped his helm on the berth.

“I'm fine though, I used to run on less and worse quality when I was fighting sometimes.”

 

Rung's frown merely deepened as he sent a few quick enquiries to Rodimus and Red Alert, Rodimus shifting his enquiries to Magnus. Sunstreaker was indeed listed as being on a single ration lot, yet Red had made a notation that he was to keep Bob from interfering with the ship on threat of his banishment from the ship. This condition was signed off by Magnus.  
But surely they realised that with a single ration?...

 

Rung made a note to investigate and rectify the problem after the session, turning his attention back to Sunstreaker, who's field had relaxed noticably since Bob had popped up for pets.  
He'd been counting on the insecticon working his calming magic on the frontliner.

 

“Now, how have you been feeling since we talked? Did you feel any relief from being able to get a few things off your chestplates?”

The golden mech shifted slightly on the berth. “Not... really.”

 

Rung was sincerely disappointed to hear that, putting down his pad and picking up his model as he sat back and mulled over that limited response and Sunstreaker's body language.

“I had really hoped giving you a verbal outlet would help in some way. What's made it have the opposite effect?”

 

Sunstreaker clenched and unclenched the servo not patting Bob as he mulled over his answer. He was not used to opening up, and whenever he thought of his impromptu session with the psychiatrist, his tank churned in shame at how... how easily he'd been cracked open to spill his dark and distasteful contents to a mech he barely knew... how desperately he'd clung to a bot simply because they'd listened. He felt like he'd betrayed his own confidence. He was disgusted with himself.

“It just... it made me think about everything again, and once I start, I can't stop.”

“Oh, I see. You tend to dwell then... that is normal you know. It can take a long time to work through things that weigh heavily on your mind. I take it the dwelling has not helped your ability to recharge much?”

 

The golden mech made an affirmative noise but didn't say anything about the visions that woke him, or the ones that kept him awake, the ones that would not leave him alone until he exorcised them through paint, where they stared at him, never letting him forget...

He shook his helm slightly, shuttering his optics.

 

“Between half rations and limited recharge, I'm supposing the high-grade is one of the only things keeping you functional.”  
Rung did not sound at all judgemental or admonishing. And Sunstreaker supposed he either knew about the frequent drinking through ship talk, or because it was common for bots like him to turn to high-grade when the rest of their life had turned to a miasma of slag.

 

“And I suppose that makes a neat segway into you getting me to tell you about the assault.” Sunstreaker sighed blandly, a bitter edge to his voice, though it came across as more defensive than threatening.

 

“There is not much about the assault I would need you to tell me about, Trailbreaker's sobered remorse provided me with all the details I would ever need. What I wanted to ask you was are you really as over the whole 'rape thing' as you have told Ratchet you are?”

 

Sunstreaker's hackles were up when Rung's voice took on a slightly less than neutral edge. He sat up to half turn and glare at the Psychiatrist, who's gaze bored into his with a piercing calm that belied his frighteningly acute observational skills.

 

“Don't you come at me from that psycho-shrink angle. Don't you try and tell me no mech can just accept their body can be used like a tool without emotional backlash because I lived it enough times to know different. I don't need you or anyone else trying to tell me how to feel about it, because I DON'T feel anything about it. End of story.”

 

Rung held Sunstreaker's hard, challenging gaze as he slowly ran a thumb back and forth over the roof of the Ark model, assessing and carefully thinking through his response.  
“I wish to understand how you've managed that, because- and don't bite my head off... because it is not a common thing, no, but I am not about to tell you it is not a valid coping mechanism. Not until I understand how you came to feel that way... or more to the point, not feel that way.”

 

Sunstreaker deflated like a popped balloon, sagging and sinking back down to the berth to lie there looking distinctly awkward.  
“...You're the first mech who's actually asked me that.”

“I thought as much.” Rung replied softly, with a tone that encouraged Sunstreaker to take his time answering.

 

It took the golden mech at least four kliks to even start. “You couldn't let that kind of thing bother you in the pits. It did... of course it did, I hadn't interfaced with more than two mechs outside of Sideswipe before we got dragged into that sorry hell hole. The first time it happened, I fought, and they nearly killed me for it. I learnt pretty quickly that forcing interface was as much a coping mechanism for some bots as it was a means of humiliation by others. It was just another obstacle in the survival race. Fighting and staying alive was important. What happened to my interface equipment wasn't. My equipment was no different to any other part of me, anyone could attack me with any part of themselves. Interface usually didn't mean death when you lost a fight against the rapist. It just... became meaningless.”

 

The golden mech's tone was matter of fact, but Rung could feel a ripple in his field, underlying emotion he'd either buried viciously or had ignored for so long it had weakened to a shadow of it's former self.  
“So you adjusted to the abuse as part of the whole experience of violence? Did you ever feel the need to mourn the loss of your right to own yourself, and your body and intimacy?”

 

The question was put simply, not emotionally, but rather curiously in an unobtrusive way.  
Sunstreaker still wasn't sure how Rung did it, but he had already popped him open twice now by catching him off guard with his reactions, so he figured in for a credit, in for a chit.

 

“Yeah. I guess. Maybe? There wasn't much room for... for thinking or feeling. The decision to stop caring was a quick one. And it was... it was mutual. Me and Sides had to do that together. We had to stop feeling about it, because if we held onto emotions and shock and grief and all that, we would falter. We'd show weakness, and be vulnerable, and we'd be DEAD. We chose to survive. Besides... we didn't actually own our bodies until we joined the Autobots. We... we knew it was probably wrong, to decide to not care, but it... it was pretty easy, after a while. To just not care who or what happened to our interface equipment. We just... we did regret not being able to be angry. We regretted how we were forced to consider it no big deal, because it was, and we knew that, but when you have to choose between letting someone frag you like a pleasure drone and letting yourself get brutally killed, we just did what we had to.”

 

Rung watched Sunstreaker's upside-down faceplate as he spoke, and was genuinely surprised by the lack of... of emotional trauma when he spoke. He genuinely had removed his emotional attachment from his interface equipment.  
“I have to say, I'm... surprised. Not a lot of mechs can actually reconcile rape as just another form of physical abuse... emotional subroutines are written into the triggers that drive interfacial equipment. I suppose the sort of duress you and your brother were under is the sort necessary to re-write them.”

 

“Don't get me wrong... when I have the ability to chose, I don't just give it away like a handshake.” Sunstreaker corrected him with a slightly annoyed look, as if Rung had implied he was a berth-hopper.  
“That is actually very reassuring to hear. It means you can control the programming and you have not developed a glitch from the circumstantial re-write. However, am I right in assuming you have not found or sought any interfaces for a substantial amount of time?”

 

“Is that really relevant to anything?” Sunstreaker mumbled, looking up at him, slightly defensive.  
“Well, to a degree. You don't have to discuss your preferences, or feel pressured to seek out a partner any time soon, but I would like to know if you actually have the urge to be active in that sense or not. Or the last time you felt the need to be active in that way. Interface drive is much more heavily linked to mental than physical health, after all, though the two do go together. Not to mention interface is great for stress release of course.”

 

Sunstreaker gave him a look halfway between irritated and amused, a difficult set of emotions to pull off together. “And here I'd pinned you for a prude, turns out you're a slagging sex therapist.”  
Rung made a motion as if rolling his optics. “I wouldn't go as far as to say that. But no, any psychiatrist, or psychologist worth their mettle should not be shy or evasive when it comes to discussing interface. It's a healthy and normal function for any cybertronian, and drives to engage in it differ vastly from mech to me-”  
“Yeah yeah you can save me the 'everyone is different and different is normal' speech, I know. I have a drive. It's just... been dormant. More... important stuff to deal with than shooting of a charge.” He grumbled.

 

“I see. Well, when was the last time you felt any need to shoot of a charge?” Rung countered with a hint of playful amusement in his tone.  
Sunstreaker lapsed into serious thought for a moment before grunting out his answer. “Before I got nabbed.”

 

“By the humans?” Rung prompted gently, the ark which he had been turning over in his servos stilling in his lap.  
Sunstreaker gave a nod in way of reply and looked pointedly out a window rather than engage with his surroundings or Rung.

 

The psychiatrist felt Sunstreaker's field pull against him worryingly tightly. A reaction he both expected and had hoped not to feel.  
“That is rather a long time for it to have shut down. What was it like before then?”

 

“Normal I guess. Maybe a little high before I got stationed on the mudball. Back when I was head of that campaign to keep the cons off the string of border planets to the main supply route. We did so WELL. We were WINNING. That team... they were great, we were fighting hard and living hard, and it made us all a bit, y'know... close quarters, gotta keep pumped, gotta stay on good form, interfacing was normal, we all just... boosted each other, y'know? And then it just... they stuck me on fragging EARTH and I STILL don't know why.”

 

Sunstreaker's tone was bitter again, and he stared resolutely out the porthole at the stars slowly streaking by.

“So, Earth took you away from the mechs who you liked to interface with. You didn't end up forming any relationships on earth? Friendships or interface partners just to help unwind?”

 

Sunstreaker snorted at that. “Mechs already there had either made their cliques or stagnated so long they were too uptight to even go there with. Getting assigned there was self-service territory, and only then to try and distract myself because it was so damn boring and pointless half he time.”

 

Rung nodded and sighed softly. “Unfortunately not an uncommon story across the army. You were actually very lucky with your former garrison.”

“You don't say.” Sunstreaker drawled bitterly.  
“So, I think it's safe to assume events thereafter were the cause of the complete decline of any interface drive. What about since the end of the war?” Rung prompted in what he hoped was a diffusingly calm way without sounding too clinical.

 

“Are you kidding?... You're serious? How the slag could I have an interface drive after what I did? How could I even THINK of feeling good when most of what's left of the Autobots still hate my guts. When there are bots like Trailbreaker who think I still need to be taught a lesson, who think I don't know torture, who think I feel nothing. I'm a _traitor,_ I don't deserve to-”  


He cut himself off as his voice crackled with static, helm turned so that Rung couldn't see his faceplate. He could read in his body and fluctuating field that he had pulled right in again, the mech was still stuck in a loop of self loathing that didn't seem about to break any time soon.  


“Sunstreaker, you may not believe me when I say this, but I will say it anyway, because it seems to me you need to hear it. You did _not_ deserve what Trailbreaker did to you. You are not in purgatory, and you should not think that you need to be. You do not deserve to be made to feel more pain than you already have. Than you clearly already do.”

“You weren't there.” Sunstreaker spoke so quietly it was barely above a whisper, staring at the porthole without really seeing it.

 

Rung was not entirely sure where 'there' was, but Sunstreaker continued without prompting.  
“You didn't see their faces... you didn't live alongside them knowing everything that happened, everything they suffered was _your fault._ I have _tried_ to tell myself so many times, believe me I have... I've tried to reason away what I did it, and absolve myself, but not even taking out that bridge and living in the hell of my own mind in a mound of dead bugs absolves me of what I did... of the chain of events I started, it went EVERYWHERE. Autobots everywhere have ME to thank for their friends dying, their bases falling, their confidence being shattered. How can I know that and think I don't deserve what Trailbreaker did? How can I know that and shoot off a charge? What kind of filth would I be to believe that was ok?”

 

“You know it was not all your fault though, don't you? You know what Megatron did, what he had created for the soul purpose of getting the information he needed to carry out the whole plan? I do not want to put you down by saying this, but you were only a pawn in his plan... Hunter was part of that same plan when they learnt about him. What you did not give Starscream willingly, they took from Hunters mind, and that was not your fault-”

 

“Oh, wasn't it? I should have killed him in the first place. I should have killed us both when he bonded with me. Primus only knows I wanted to... I should have tried harder, I didn't want to live. He was being driven by that stupid instinct of his and I KNEW he was better off dead than living with what he'd been made into... what we'd BOTH been made into...” Sunstreaker rolled off the berth and onto his pedes, flinching and ignoring his own pain as he paced stiffly, aggravated.  
Bob whined from under the berth where he'd settled.  


“I'm not even ME any more. The real me was destroyed! I'm a copy! A backup drive with a reconstructed spark from the tiny kernel that was left, the weak little pinprick Ratchet should have snuffed out... it would have been better for everyone, EVERYONE, if I had just died. If it had ended there.”  
His vocaliser was hoarse, wavering as he tried to control it, and he grunted in pain, one knee buckling as he turned sharply away from Rung, who stood automatically when he fell to his knees.

 

Sunstreaker shrugged him off as his plating shook from the strain of trying to contain the sudden emotional torrent.  
It had snuck up on him and exploded in yet another disgusting display of the slagpit inside him. The black hole he wished would implode quietly and take him with it, so that no one saw, and no one noticed what a wretched creature he'd become in the end. So he'd have some dignity left.

Clearly he didn't deserve that either. Not when this little old mech could pop him open with minimal effort.

 

He took the fact that he was a wreck internally and now externally as yet another sign he should just cease existing.

He felt Rung's servo on his shoulder again, and again he shrugged it off. He never liked being touched, but now it was because he felt as If he were infectious... that the black inside of his mind and the filth of his deeds would rub off onto good mechs if they came into contact with him of their own volition for too long.  
And he'd done enough damage as it was.

 

Rung did not give up though, and Sunstreaker lost the will to fight when the psychiatrist moved to face him, kneeling in front of him, and wrapped his thin, flimsy arms around his shoulders.

He was being hugged. He didn't understand why, and his first thought was to push Rung away because mass murderers and traitors did not deserve such physical comforts... such outreaches... but he could not bring himself to do it.  
He just remained on his knees, stooped and shaking, and let Rung embrace him.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is a long, hard road, made harder when you blame yourself as much as the people around you do. But there are still friends to be found sometimes, usually in the most unexpected places.
> 
> Sunstreaker is reminded that Booze never really helped anyone, and PTSD is not something that goes away the longer you bury it. Bob learns that real berths are the comfiest thing he's ever been on and that his master needs him as much as he needs his master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this unexpectedly fell out of me between 10pm and 3:30am last night/morning. Like seriously it came out of nowhere. It's been building in my head for the past few months, so it's not like i had nothing to work with, but quite a large chunk of this chapter just formed out of nowhere as i went along. other bits have been nagging over and over in my head for ages. The original plot has changed and stretched quite a bit since i started this. it's safe to say that this is the most unexpected fic I've ever embarked upon for TF.
> 
> Mostly I guess this is Spotlight:Hoist's fault, since it was more like 'mini spotlight Sunstreaker and Bob' guest starring Hoist and Swerve with a Perceptor Cameo. I'm actually going to be working Spotlight Hoist events directly into this, so heads up you might want to read that.
> 
> Also there's a few cameos in this chap, one of which will become a little more important in the next chap. Some people will instantly know who that is. The others are there just because they popped into my brain as great additions and fun things to write in.
> 
> Anywho, fyi, angst-streaker isn't going away for a while, and I'm going to be heaping a lot of shit on him, so if you're hoping for a massive redemption any time soon, sorry to disappoint, that's coming along a little later than expected.  
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoy.

Sunstreaker was woken suddenly by an impromptu meeting with the floor. He flailed his way out of the murky fog of images that flashed through his mind, processor straining to break out of the memory purge and reconnect with reality.

A face swam in front of him, and before he could reign his reactions in, he swung at it.

 

First Aid reacted with impressive speed, pulling his face out of the line of fire and grasping the fist swung his way with a firm but gentle grip. “Sunstreaker, wake up! It's alright, you're just in the medbay.”

The golden mech stilled and tensed, forcing his processor to switch back into the real world. He blinked up at the young medic, honing in on him as an anchor, optics taking a while to focus, engine still revving a little high.

 

First Aid let his fist go when he was sure the frontliner was back to himself but remained crouched by his side. “You've had a memory purge. It was rather serious, I couldn't wake you. How long has this been happening?”

The golden mech sat up slowly, refusing the servo offered and not meeting Aid's gaze. “A while.”

 

The red and white mech gave a small huff, but he exuded patience and calm. “You should have come to me 'a while' ago then. We have stuff for that you know. I mean you can't overuse it or it stops being as effective, but considering how long I’m guessing you've been having problems recharging, I don't think Ratchet would disagree that you need them. Wait here, I'll be back in a klik.”

 

Sunstreaker watched the medic leave, still a little dazed, and picked himself up stiffly, sitting back up on the berth in the ISO room that was his temporary home.

His dazed meta turned rather quickly towards seeking out Bob, only to remember Ratchet still wasn't allowing him in the medbay. The hollow feeling he got without his companion ate at his mind in a way he didn't like. He was more dependant on the little bug than he would admit to anyone... not that he needed to, it ended up being pretty obvious most of the time, but he didn't care. Bots could think whatever they wanted, he didn't give a frag. So long as he had Bob, he felt... he felt like he had some purpose left.

 

First Aid returned pretty quickly, holding a little box in his servo which he poked through. He came to a stop in front of Sunstreaker and pulled a data chip out of the box, holding it up. “This is a suppressant. This one isn't very strong, but it should help you get some restful recharge without memory purges when you're having a lot of trouble with them. You have to make sure you lie down before you put them in, any primary data port will do, but most mechs put it in their arm port since that's easiest. It'll knock you into recharge in about five nano's, so yeah, make sure you're comfy before you put it in. There's ten to a box, try not to become dependant on them. If they don't work I'll bump you up to the next strength.”

 

Sunstreaker gave him a slightly dazed look, accepting the chip and box from him as he tried to absorb all that information.  
“Um... so... wait, have these been around for... how long HAVE these been around for?”

“The lost Light didn't have many when it took off but we cleaned out Delphi's supplies and brought them with us since the place is shut-down now, and we had plenty there.” First Aid explained with a small shrug.

 

“So... I could have gotten these before?” his faceplate pulled into a slightly frustrated expression.  
“Well, no, actually the only reason I can give them to you now is because you've had more than one session with Rung, and he's marked an okay on your file for them so long as you continue seeing him. I assume you've already been put on a schedule with him?”

“Um... yeah, sort of, he's expecting to see me again, but he hasn't fixed a time, he wants me to set it.” Sunstreaker's frustration was accented with scepticism and he gave Aid a suspicious look. “Do I not get to use them if I don't set it sometime soon?”

 

“Primus no, but you really don't want to become dependant on these, they can mess your recharge patterns up MORE than what they would be from memory relapse issues, that's why you need to take them in conjunction with therapy, so you can work on the root cause and eventually stop needing them. They aren't a permanent solution by any means. More of a stop gap.”

 

Sunstreaker blinked, his frustration leaking away as the energy to upkeep it seemed to leak out of his tired mind. He simply nodded in response and looked down at the chip.  
“I didn't know they even made anything like this.”

“Most bots don't, they're reserved for when purges are exceptionally problematic, mostly because if they aren't regulated they're abused, and more harm is done than good. But in a war this long? These have been around for quiiiite a while. PTSD was the most common ailment I treated at Delphi. Don't punch me for saying it, but I can see from a mile off that you have a rather severe case of it”.

 

“Pff. I passed the PTSD stage a looong time ago. What I have is a severe case of remorse and 'what the slag do I do now-itis'.” He murmured, turning the chip over in his servo.  
“What you have is severe internalisation. There are different kinds of post traumatic stress. You've had it before, which means you have ingrained coping mechanisms, but you're still not coping.” First Aid said gently.

 

“Yeah, ok, who's the psychotherapist on this ship, Rung or You? I've got one bot inside my head, I don't need another.” he rumbled warningly. Aid just shrugged. “I'm not going to make you talk about your feelings. I'm just going to tell you what to do to not feel so bad. Lie back, stick that chip in. You'll feel a lot better after a decent recharge, I'm guessing it'll be your first in a long time. Tomorrow we're fixing your valve so you'll be free of the pinching sensation.”

 

The golden mech gave Aid a slightly calculating look and did what he was told. Just after he stuck the chip in his arm, and as the medic was walking out, he threw out a 'Thanks'.

By the time First Aid looked back at him, he'd gone into shut down. First Aid stayed standing there a moment, looking the frontliner over thoughtfully before he left, closing the door behind him to leave the golden mech in peace.

 

* * *

 

 

Sunstreaker had felt better than he'd ever expect to. It probably shouldn't of surprised him to find how much difference a proper recharge cycle made, but all the same he was slightly disorientated by not feeling like he was dragging his pedes.

Of course it wasn't just the suppressant chip that had gotten him a decent amount of rest. He'd woken up for about half a cycle before he was put back under for his operation. Ratchet had completed it within a cycle but left him under for three just to top up his recharge debt a little more.

 

He'd been released from the medbay under orders to return for a check-up the next day, and he was off the duties roster while his micro fractures healed. This was somewhat disappointing for him, since duty shifts kept him occupied, and now... now he was sort of at a loss for what to do with himself.

 

Bob had been staying with Chromedome and Rewind again, and after picking him up, Sunstreaker had gone back to his quarters and ended up pausing in his doorway.  
Something had changed in his room. Someone had been in there... and they'd left something rather sizeable.

 

He wandered over to it with a curiously clicking Bob on his heels. Against the far wall where he hadn't done any painting yet, was a berth. A proper one, facing so he would see out the window when he lay on it. There was a note on top, and he instantly recognised Rung's handwriting. 'You might want to keep punishing yourself, but your backplates will thank me for this, I'm many things, but not a chiropractor -Rung'.

 

He stared at the note for at least a full klik before he laughed and shook his helm, putting the note in subspace and laying on the thing to test it out. He had to admit to himself, it was a slagload more comfortable than his makeshift bench bed, and it had a replenishing module and everything. If he hadn't just topped up on sleep, he would have tried it out, but he sat up instead and patted the surface, inviting Bob to join him and scritching the insecticon behind his audials.

 

He ended up pulling out a datapad and doing some reading while Bob inched and shuffled his way closer, ending up sprawled over his lap and purring loudly as Sunstreaker petted him idly. He lost track of time, and was slightly startled when someone knocked at his door.

 

He made no secret of his chosen quarters, but he also didn't tell anyone where they were unless asked specifically, and since no one ever did ask him specifically, well...  
He preferred not to be bothered anyway. Mechs didn't like talking to him. It worked out well for everyone. He supposed it was either Rung at the door, or one of the Medics had found out from Rung where he was.

 

He frowned slightly as he hauled Bob off his lap and got up to go answer it. He hadn't missed his check-up had he? He was sure he hadn't been sitting there THAT long? A quick check of his chronometer proved him right on that count, so who-

 

When he opened the door, the last mech he expected to be standing there was Trailbreaker. His instant reaction was to tense up, his battle protocols onlining defensively.

“What do YOU want?”

The black bot backed up a step and fidgeted with his servos, looking extremely unsure of himself. Sunstreaker could see the shimmer of his forcefield and bristled further, trying to think about the last experience with it. Behind him he heard Bob scuttle over, the bot coming to heel and hissing warningly at the large bot in the hallway, who took yet another step back and held his hands up.

 

“I just... I came to... apologise.”

“What makes you think I want to hear it?” Sunstreaker rumbled.

“I... look, I was... I mean, my inhibitor chip fritzed a long time ago. I was overcharged and stupid, and I didn't mean to-”

“To what? Rape a mech? Whoops, bit late for that. I don't want your apology. I don't need to hear your excuses, you do, so you can feel better.” Sunstreaker said shortly, glaring daggers at the bot, expression hard.

 

Trailbreaker's mouth worked soundlessly as he floundered to find a response to that.

“Look, Sunstreaker, I'm sorry, OK? I am, really, I am... Rung... he... put things in perspective-”  
“Did he tell you to do this?” the golden mech cut across him sharply.

“No, no he didn't, I thought I should-”  
“Should what? Patch up our non-existent relationship and go back to the way it was? Not how it works. You beat the slag out of me. Congratulations, you've joined the ranks of some pretty prestigious bots in that. Double points for doing it while more tanked than I was. Now that you've absolved yourself, get the frag out of my face and don't talk to me.”

 

Sunstreaker went to shut the door in his faceplate when he blurted out “I know what happened to you in the pits, OK? He told me...”

Trailbreaker regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Sunstreaker froze halfway through turning, optics burning on the black mech with cold disdain.

“Oh. Did he now. So you know you aren't the first. Good for you. Now you can rest easy in the knowledge I'm not as traumatised as I might otherwise have been. What exactly do you WANT, Trailbreaker? Are you looking for some kind of absolution here? You want me to forgive you? Want me to tell you it's OK because I've been through worse and we can just forget the whole thing? Is that why you're here?”

 

“NO! No, it's not about me... I just... I wanted you to know I'm sorry... what I did. And that I... I understand now, why I was wrong to do that... the things I said. I didn't mean them...” he trailed off weakly as the front liners optics bored into him.  
Sunstreaker's gaze narrowed and his mouth formed a bitter sneer.

“Oh yes you did. You meant every fragging word and don't pretend otherwise. Feeling guilty about it doesn't make you mean it any less. And don't you dare, don't you DARE tell me you understand. You understand NOTHING.”

 

He stepped out into the corridor and loomed at the the other mech. Trailbreaker was bigger, but he backed up, all but quailing under the golden mech's nearly tangible anger.

His blue visor was fixed on the smouldering near-violet of the frontliner's optics.

 

“I am not going to absolve you of your guilt. You exploded my joints from the inside out. You wrecked my valve more thoroughly than any of the bots that forced themselves on me in the pits. You don't get to say sorry and feel better. You can take your apology and shove it and don't you dare, don't you DARE try to tell me you understand. You have no idea. _None.”_

 

As quickly as he had pressed into Trailbreaker's personal space, he was gone, turning his back and retreating into his quarters, closing the door on him.

Trailbreaker was left pressed against the opposite wall of the corridor with a stunned, slightly fearful expression. It took him about two kliks to get enough of his wits back together to move, at which point he hurriedly vacated the corridor.

 

In his room, Sunstreaker stood against the window, helm and palms to the glass. He heaved cooling air through his frame and tried viciously to stop the shaking, but it overwhelmed his whole frame. He stared blankly out at the stars, not seeing them, his mind focussed inwards.

Unable to control the shaking, he sank to his knees and stayed there for an indeterminable amount of time, mind flitting between memories. The pits, the incident with Trailbreaker, making the deal with Starscream, Juda's bridge, Hunter bonding with him...

 

As fast as he tried to quash one memory, another would surface, images looping constantly through his mind. _Why did he have to come here. Why did he have to bring it up and ruin everything, I was fine. Why do I have to be such a mess, he could never understand, NEVER, no one could... No one knows, no one will ever know, no one wants to know, even if they think they do. Rung wants to help me but he doesn't get it either, I can't... I can't... too much has happened... too much..._

 

Bob shuffled over making a concerned whirring and chittering, nuzzling at his master's arm and wriggling his way into Sunstreakers lap.

The frontliner wasn't conscious of what he was doing, but he ended up curling over the insecticon, clutching him with still shaking servos, optics pale and unfocussed.

 

“I don't... I don't know what to do Bob... I don't know what to do anymore...”

 

* * *

 

 

Sunstreaker had only snapped out of his introversion episode when he'd gotten a ping from First Aid that he needed to go in for his check-up.

He pulled himself together and wandered down to the medbay, taking Bob with him and disregarding the rule to leave him outside. He couldn't do it. He needed him. Bob was the only thing keeping him calm enough to function. He didn't really take notice of the fact that Ratchet was in the medbay and had failed to yell at him for bringing the insecticon in. He wasn't aware of how obviously not-right he looked.

He tried to look as normal as possible as he sat on a berth and waited for First Aid to do his check and let him go again.

 

The junior medic threw his mentor a look on the way past and stood in front of Sunstreaker, gently beginning his examination. The golden mech complied soundlessly, optics never focussing on anything long, servos twitching now and then. Aid could hear his systems making suppressed stress noises, but did not comment on it.

 

“Everything seems to be healing up just fine. Systems aren't showing any signs of rejecting any of the metal grafts, and your welds have all set nicely. Still, don't do anything strenuous for about an orn.”  
Sunstreaker just nodded deftly, not looking at the medic, but at Bob, who was peering up at him and had put a clawed servo on his knee. He petted the insecticon's helm, and the medic noted the stress sound in his engine reducing as he calmed.

 

“Sunstreaker?”

The frontliner couldn't really ignore the young medic when he was directly addressing him for his attention. He looked up, optics still paler than usual, and schooled his face into what he hoped was a neutral mask.

“Your rations have been changed, you have a separate allotment for Bob now, OK? And I think before you leave you should schedule your next appointment with Rung.”

 

The golden mech couldn't help the pull at his mouth into a slight grimace. “Uh... fine. Whenever he thinks is the best time I guess.”

“Usually he puts sessions once an orn, but I think he'd rather see you sooner than later. In three days sound alright?”

“Um... yeah, that's fine.” he murmured, looking back down at Bob. “I can go now yeah?”

First Aid gave him a concerned look, sharing another look with Ratchet.

“We don't need you to stay for anything. Are you alright Sunstreaker?... You aren't in pain are you? The equipment fix isn't malfunctioning at all?”

Sunstreaker looked up briefly with an odd expression. “No? Why would it? Not like I've used it.”

“Alright then. You sure you're alright? You seem a little out of sorts.” Aid pressed gently.

 

“Fine. Just... yeah, I'm fine. Thanks Aid, I'll catch you later.” Sunstreaker stood and ducked out of the medbay looking as if he was trying to avoid their gazes. The medics shared another look when he left and Ratchet's frown deepened.

“Something's happened. Slagger never lets on when he gets shaken up. Hold the fort Aid, I'm going to go talk to Red. And Rung, if he's free.”

  

* * *

 

 

He knew he shouldn't have. Knew Ratchet would probably disapprove and chew him out and smack him over the helm, but he really didn't care. Sunstreaker was sat back in a corner of Swerve's bar, drinking himself into a stupor the night before his next session with Rung. He sat slouched, staring at the ceiling with unfocussed optics, lap filled with insecticon that he petted with uncoordinated servos whenever Bob squirmed and nuzzled him.

 

He wasn't sure if bots were actually staring and talking about him under their breath or if he was just extremely paranoid, but four cubes to the wind and he didn't give a slag.

He'd never expect to have a drinking problem, but he began to wonder if he was crossing the line between binge drinker and full on having an over-energizing problem. He thought maybe he was straddling the line. He didn't bother drinking his troubles away when he had other working avenues of suppression. Right now, he had few other means of breaking the downward spiral of his own thoughts.

 

All the same, he knew he couldn't afford to let it become a dependence. He had a lot of credits set aside, but he wasn't really keen on wasting them on badly brewed booze. He knew there were other means of distraction. He just had to remember what the slag they were, which was hard when he was this tanked.

 

He was surprised he'd even managed to keep such a coherent train of thought going for as long as he just had. He looked into his last cube and downed the rest, pulling a face. Tasted like slag, but it sure got the job done, a zing of tingly hot-cold sweeping his systems.  
“Mmmmmkaaaaaay. Thaaat's me f'r t'day. Boooob... tow-line time Bob, c'mon.”

 

He managed to stagger out of the bar, but got stuck in the corridor crouching with his glossa between his teeth trying to attach the insecticon's lead. “Fffffffffragginslaggerpitspawnsonova-”  
“Hey Sunstreaker! Need any help?”

The golden mech turned surprised optics up at the pleasant greeting and felt less surprised when he discovered Drift grinning down at him.  
“Uuuuh yeah I guess. Bit too tanked f'r accuracy”

 

The white swordsmech crouched and clipped the lead on for him with one deft movement. “You headed home for the night then?”  
“Yuuuuup.” Sunstreaker stood with a slight wobble, wondering if it would be polite to transform right now and then wondering why he even cared, wobbling slightly in his indecision.  
“Hey, I'll walk with you. I'm not really headed anywhere in particular.” Drift chirped, extremely friendly. Even charged to the pit, Sunstreaker was no fool.

“Y'wanna guard me against another beating or y'wanna get me alone to have y'r turn?” He said wryly, Bob pulling at the lead to get him to move forward in the right direction.

 

“Neither. Just thought I might as well walk with you. We haven't really talked much. I wanted to see how you were getting on, y'know, repairs wise. It's a bit soon to be getting overcharged isn't it? Has Ratchet approved this?”  
Sunstreaker let out a loud noise like a turbo-charger valve blowing off. “Noooooo but s'not the first time I've followed repairs with a couple cubes 'f high-grade. I'll be fiiine. Hungover prob'ly but fine.”

 

The white mech chuckled. “Alright then, if you say so.”  
They walked in silence a little ways, Drift gently prodding Sunstreaker into a straight line when he veered into him as they walked.  
“Hey, Driiiift.”

“Mmm?” He looked at the golden mech, who's expression seemed almost... nostalgic?

“D'you ever miss it? Fighting? You were good y'know, as 'Con. Better th'n good. You were kickin' my aft, me n' my garrison. You remember that?”

 

The swordsmech blinked, taken quite aback by the topic... and more importantly- “How do you know that was me?”

Sunstreaker snorted and gave him a look. “Y'mighta got upgrades n refurbishments, but th' styles th' same. Don't gemme wrong, y'not the same as y'were when you were Deadlock. And f'r what its worth m' glad you turned tail on the 'Cons, cuz if y'hadn't, y'da beat the slag outta us. Once you were gone, we turned the tide. Took back the planet. I... I miss that garrison. That fight. It w'z easier back then, knew where I stood, wondered if it was th'same for you. Do y'miss it?”

 

Drift became rather pensive at that, considering his answer carefully, even as he poked the golden mech deftly back on track again.  
“No. No, I don't think I do miss that. Not in the same sense as you do. I consider myself... enlightened. I was blind back then. The meaningless violence was not fulfilling, it was a... substitute, I suppose. But for what it's worth... you were a worthy opponent.” he gave Sunstreaker a grin that harked back to his days as Deadlock, and the golden mech grinned predatorially right back at him.

 

“So... you seriously just recognised me from my frame 'style'? Or are you having me on?”

the white mech peered at him dubiously.  
“Damn straight I'm serious. Lotta bots don't pay attention t'frames. Me, I'm an artist, I notice that stuff. I knew who y'were not long after I met you as y'are now. Found out a couple little things 'n put the pieces t'gether.”  
“That's right... I remember Rodimus mentioning you're an artist. What do you do?”

“Paint stuff. Walls, frames, canvases, anything really.” he shrugged, pulling a face as his tank made a slight gurgly noise. “Uuugh. Dunno what Swerve made that last batch outta but it's not processing so great.”

“Mmm. If you're going to purge, turn your head right to do it, OK?” Drift snickered “Guess there's a reason Ratchet says no drinking after repairs.”

“Yeah but it's not t'do with processing problems, that's cuz y'need proper fuel to help repairs. Overcharging slows th' repair nanites.” Sunstreaker clarified, leaning against the wall as Bob stopped outside their room.

Drift gave the door a slightly surprised look. “Isn't this the rear observation deck?”

“Yeeeep. Had a spark-eater victim left innit. I did the clean-up, I get the room. S'nice n dark n stuff.”  
“Ah, I see. Fair enough, but perhaps I should come in and cleanse it of negative energy some time?”

Sunstreaker had a small giggling fit at that, Bob giving his master a confused look, Drift doing much the same.  
“Mech, no dead body is gonna match the negative energy I put out, trust me. You wanna try cleansing me sometime y'gonna have y'work cut out for you.” He petted Drift's shoulder and fumbled his door code into the pad.

 

Drift gave the frontliner a slightly sad look behind his back. “Would if I could mech. I'll catch you later, okay?”

“Yeeeeeeeeap.” Sunstreaker waved vaguely back with an arm before the door closed behind him.

  

* * *

 

 

The world was an unkind mess of colour and sound and images, swimming across his mind. Time had been lost to him again, he had no way of tracking it somehow. He couldn't process through the fog of alerts on his HUD and pain in his frame.

The last thing he remembered was dropping on his berth and fumbling the recharge line to attach to his side.

 

Now he was somewhere in his room, and all he knew was the optics staring at him from the opposite side of the room. The floor was constantly moving and rumbling too loudly, his backplates were against something icy and he couldn't claw his way somewhere safe. His frame didn't want to respond, actuators misfiring, tension cables failing, alerts flashing, and those optics staring and glaring and judging as fire swept through his sensory grid.

 

The ping of his comm was a distant echo in his head that felt like something trying to make his audios explode. He had been aware of more sound earlier, it had been him, he thought, but his voice didn't seem to want to respond anymore either.

 

~

 

Whirl trudged down the corridors. Stupid errands. Why did he have to like that damn therapist so much. And why was HE the errand bot. He was, what, fourth in the chain of command? Well, no, REALLY he was equal to Drift, even though he took orders from Magnus. Equal third then. Maybe not officially, but Rodimus would probably ask his advice more if they hung out more, that was just coincidental. Well, that and he wasn't fragging Rodimus. Yeah he liked him but Drift could keep THAT.

 

So anyway, why the slag he was running around after bots that couldn't even make it to appointments on time he didn't know. But whatever, Rung wanted to know where shiny-aft was, then Whirl would go drag his aft to his session. Another question entirely was why the slag mister special yellow snowflake had to have a room away from the hab suites. If he was trying to get on bots good sides, then alienating himself wasn't really going to help much, now was it.

 

He found the right door (He thought) and smacked a pincered servo against it.

“Oi STREAKFACE! Up you get! The head doc wants to see you! I mean, not the head DOCTOR, the HEAD doctor, y'know? Eyebrows! You're not skipping out on a session THAT easy y'know. I tried once, trust me, easier to just go along with it.”

 

He waited a few moments, listening, but got nothing back. “OKAAAAY you've forced my claw, I'm coming i~iiiiiin”.

He tried the keypad, making a noise of boredom when he couldn't hack it and just punching his pincers into it and twisting. The thing sparked and the door hissed open on emergency reaction. The spiky 'copter wandered in and looked about. “Wow, nice mood lighting. Very emo. Adds to the whole 'no one likes me' chique you got going. Very in fashion these days for traitors, now where are you- Oh, OK, sleeping against the window. That's a new one.”

 

He trudged over and tilted his helm at the bulky thing curled up against the frontliner, which popped it's helm up and hissed at him, flaring spiky plating.  
“Aaaand the pet adds a nice touch, but you're not fooling me. C'mon you lazy aft, get up.” Whirl crossed his arms and waited, but Sunstreaker didn't move.

Well, no, that wasn't true, he was shaking.

“Ooooh ok, yeah, I see, the old 'chuck a sickie to get out of it' thing. Like I haven't pulled that. C'mon you pathetic waste of fabulous paint.”

 

He kicked the golden mech in the chestplates somewhat viciously, and squawked when Bob lashed out. He jumped back a step or two, the insecticon hissing louder. Sunstreaker didn't respond.  
“Ooookie dokie... either you're a better actor than me, or you're not faking.”  
He looked around, noticing a pool of purged energon. Then he turned further and noticed the wall covered in paintings.

 

“Weeeeell I'll be damned. There's something you don't see every day.” He murmured, tilting his helm and studying the work, taking a few image caps before turning back to the golden mech and slouching. “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Well this is just great. FINE. I'll carry you to medbay. No, no need to thank me, I'm just doing this out of the goodness of my spark because I'm such a kind and caring individua- ACK, stupid pet I'M HELPING HIM NOW OK? SIT... STAY... wow, that actually worked...”

Bob sat and stayed, buzzing angrily at him as he hauled the dead weight of the over-warm mech over his shoulder and plodded out of the room.

Bob whined as his master was taken away, following when Whirl walked out, still muttering. He kept at a distance, apprehensive of the big blue spiky mech.

 

“HEY DOC, Special delivery. Guess what I got. It's emo, it's yellow, and it's vibrating slightly.” Whirl unceremoniously dumped the frontliner on the nearest berth, Ratchet poking his helm out of his office. “Whirl I have NOT got time for your- Primus, what's happened to him NOW? What did you do to him?”

 

The CMO bustled out and dragged Sunstreaker into a better position on the berth, checking his vitals and revving anxiously. “He was crumpled up against the window in his room, I didn't do anything! Rung asked me to go find him when he missed his appointment and he couldn't get him on comms. If you ask me, I think he's tried to do himself i-”  
“I DIDN'T ask you. Thankyou for bringing him, now please get out of my bay and tell Rung he's here.”

 

Whirl threw his servos into the air and turned to leave. “You TRY to do something nice, you get treated like a crook, that's life for ya. You're lucky I'm such a nice guy, or I'd tell you to shove it and tell him yourself. But I understand news like this has to be delivered with that personal touch.”

 

Ratchet growled at the mech as he left, hooking Sunstreaker up to several machines, swearing as he found the substance in his lines causing the catatonic reaction.

He went about hooking up a line flush, for all the good it would do now with the acidic compound running through every system in his body.

 

He was sure at least of one thing given the acid was a long lasting, slow working, non-lethal variety. Sunstreaker had not been attempting suicide, or at least if he had, he'd gone about it in a really dumb way. Even newsparks knew this particular slow-stripping agent would cause long lasting pain without actually killing you. It was best known these days as a tool of interrogative torture.

 

So the question then, if Sunstreaker had not ingested it himself (And he knew the golden mech neglected himself out of guilt, but would not have thought him likely to take to the course of hardcore self harm), how then had it gotten in him?

And more importantly, had he been deliberately poisoned with it?

The very thought of someone in the crew inflicting this deliberately made him sick to his tanks.

 

Ratchet made a slightly startled noise as something bumped his leg. Looking down, he grunted at the Insecticon looking up at him with round, anxious optics.  
“Ugh. FINE. You can stay. How you even got in here I don't think I wanna know. But you're gonna need a sterilising bath.”

//Aid, I need you to put that inventory on hold and come deal with a little pest problem. Sunstreaker's just been dragged in here unconscious by Whirl, and his pet's followed him. Sunny's out of it, I need you to sterilise the bug so I don't have to kick the pathetic thing out//.

 

The red and white CMO in training appeared before Ratchet had even finished his comm. He trotted over with an anxious look on his masked and visored features. “How the slag did he get poisoned?”

Ratchet shrugged. “No idea. Whirl was sent to fetch him when he didn't appear for his next appointment with Rung apparently. Found him in his room like this.”

The younger medic touched the golden mech's helm lightly, turning it slightly left and right. “he's awfully over-heated. Do we know how long the substance has been in his system?”

 

Ratchet gave a long, weary sigh. “No idea, but I’d wager it was the last time he fuelled, which was last night when he got himself tanked at Swerve's. Best guess is someone slipped something in one of his drinks when he was already too overcharged to notice it. A-430 has a pretty unmistakeable taste, he'dve been hitting the strong stuff not to notice it.”

First Aid winced at the mention of that particular acid. “Really? _Really?_ Someone thought THAT stuff was necessary? That's... I don't understand, why do they think cruelty of that level is warranted?” he huffed angrily.

 

The older mech gave him a slightly surprised look. It took a lot to get first Aid riled up. He'd seen much crueller work at the servos of his old boss (he flexed said servos instinctively, hoping, not for the first time, that he could repay the karmic debt his servos owed), and yet he'd not riled so easily at that.  
Ratchet pursed his lips slightly and shook his helm. “He messed up pretty slaggin' bad, but no, he doesn't deserve this. Not after paying his dues like he has. When we find the mech responsible, he's gonna wish he'd never signed onto the same ship as me, I tell you that much.”

 

Aid hummed at that in a non-committal fashion. “Whoever they are, they're lucky I'm a pacifist, or I would- Oh... hello Bob.” the insecticon, finding no attention from Ratchet, had head butted the younger medic's shins lightly. He looked up at Aid with four wide, pathetic optics and made a whining sort of whirr.  
First Aid knelt and scritched him lightly, the mopey bug shuffling closer and putting his helm on his knee.  
“Since you've obviously got a good rapport with him, clean him up will you? I'm loath to keep him away from Sunny since he does him such good, but I won't have him trudging contaminants all over the bay.”

 

“Yessir. C'mon Bob. Your master will be OK. Let's get you cleaned up and we'll see if we can find you something to make you feel better too, hmm?” Aid stood and wiggled his fingers to try and coax Bob to follow him into the scrub room.

The insecticon followed him with a mournful sort of warble.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker recovers once again from an unprovoked revenge attack, while his few allies do something about the fact he's being targeted. Ratchet gets on Magnus' back, Ambulon is a sassy little shit, and First Aid is actually noticed the way he wants to be.  
> Bob would just be happy if his master was healthy and he got scritches and bad things stopped happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought last night while this was about 3000 words long that in the morning I would just read it over and post it.  
> But then another 4000 words fell out of me oops.  
> But yeah, I wanted this to head towards lighter territory, before I bogged this story down with an unbearable amount of angst. I don't want to do that. Anyway, hope you enjoy, sorry there's no smut, that'll come next chapter I swear. Also many thanks to Zomgitsalaura for doing a quick Beta read for me ^.^

For the second time, Sunstreaker awoke suddenly in medbay to find First Aid hovering over him.

This time though, it was not memory purges waking him. Actually, he didn't know what brought him out of stasis, but as soon as he was conscious he wanted not to be again.

 

Pain permeated every inch of his frame, burning so badly it made him gasp through his vents.

“I'm sorry Sunstreaker, I won't keep you awake long. You have to be online for me to check your processors to make sure there's no acid damage in there. Firstly, you can still understand me, yes? Just nod, don't try to speak, the acid's degraded your vocaliser components too badly.”

 

The front-liner clenched his jaw and nodded briefly. He could understand, but that didn't mean his head wasn't swimming, making it hard to focus or get his bearings. He tried his comms, finding to his relief that they worked. //What happened? How did I get here? What's wrong with me?//

 

First Aid gave him a sympathetic look as he drew a diagnostic uplink cable from his arm and gently opened a port on the back of Sunstreaker's helm. “You've been poisoned with Acid. It's not fatal, but it will leave you in a lot of pain until Perceptor can synthesise the neutralising agent. We'll keep you in stasis as much as possible, but it may take anywhere between two and four days before we can eliminate the substance from your frame completely. It's a sticky acid, and it had time to work its way through most of your systems. Now, I'm just going to do some basic processor checks OK? Don't mind me, it won't take long.”  


Sunstreaker's optics flickered as he tried to heave air through his frame. It felt like he was being burnt alive in a vat of corrosive lava or something. His fans sputtered, and frame shook slightly.

It was too much like...

No, he couldn't think about that. It wasn't the same, there were no humans here, he still had a body... but the presence of another in his head, the all-pervading agony clouding every line of thought and slowing his mind. It was too similar. He tried to move but found his motor-functions offline. Looking down at himself a wave of sick fear passed through his spark to find lines and wires coming out of everywhere.

 

“Your processors have remained protected against the acid, same with your t-cog and spark thankfully, but the casing's been exposed on the outside. We've pumped you full of repair nanites to keep everything from corroding too badly, and you're on a line flush. We had to set up an energon feed right into your spark-chamber so none of the tainted energon slips in there. Your motor-controls are offline temporarily so you don't accidentally unseat anything, but it's going to be ok.”

 

First Aid could feel the frantic activity through Sunstreaker's processor. He could almost feel the panic. Looking into the front-liner’s optics it became clear he was not handling the situation well at all. The young medic took Sunstreaker's face in his servos to get him to look at him.

“Hey, it's OK. You'll be fine, I promise. You're safe here. We'll fix you up. Bob's here too, he's sleeping under the berth, he'll be taken good care of.”

 

Sunstreaker's engine gave an abortive sort of whine. //Make it stop. It hurts, please, make it stop// he didn't care how pathetic he sounded, how unreasonably afraid. The need to be distanced from his situation, from himself, from reality, from the agony... that was all that mattered to him in that moment.

Aid rumbled in sympathy. “It's ok, we're done for now. I'll let you sleep again.”

He pulled a suppressor chip from a subspace pocket on his forearm and gently disconnected his diagnostic line before sliding the chip into a slot beside the uplink port.

 

In seconds, the golden mech was unconscious again, and First Aid let out a slow ventilation.

He probably should have expected a panic attack like that. He wished he hadn't needed to wake him in the first place. He'd meant to ask him if he had any idea who had poisoned him, or when, but the effects of the acid were clearly far too strong to try waking him again any time soon.

The young medic checked all the machines and lines were still properly seated and working as they should before leaving the ISO room they'd set Sunstreaker up in.

 

“How is he?”

Aid turned, spotting Rung sitting outside the ISO. He'd missed him on the way out, normally he heard a bot's systems before he saw them, and could even identify them on the sound alone, but Rung had a rather quiet frame,

“Not particularly well.” He sighed. “I've put him in extended stasis on a higher strength data purge suppressant than the ones I gave him earlier. The longer he's offline, the better. He'll have worse disorientation, but compared to what he'd experience awake, it's the best we can do for him.”

 

Rung nodded, servo resting on his leg tapping at his thigh thoughtfully. “I don't suppose even if he knew who did this he would have told you.”

“Haven't got a clue. I mean, Ratchet's already gotten up in Swerve's face, he didn't do it though. He admits to taking digs at Sunny, but he's just not a vindictive enough bot to do this kind of thing. I think his next guess was Trailbreaker but it turns out he was on waste sluicing duty on the hull when the poisoning supposedly took place, so it's unlikely to have been him. Oh... Ratchet told you about Trailbreaker going to Sunny's quarters to apologise to him didn't he?”

 

Rung looked up at the medic, eyebrows knitted together slightly. “No? When was that exactly?”

“About four days ago. When he came in for his post surgery check-up he was really out of sorts. Didn't say anything, but Ratchet went off to investigate. He got tapes off Red of the corridor outside Sunstreaker's room. Apparently Trailbreaker tried to apologise, but Sunstreaker had none of it, and then he shut the door in his face and didn't come out of his room until it was time for his check-up. Actually... I suppose really you should have a copy, I'll get Ratchet to send it to you when he gets back. He's off talking to Magnus. Well... I say talking. More like admonishing.”

 

“Ah. About the rations I take it?” Rung laced his servos together in his lap.  
First Aid nodded. “I think he 's also going to try and make him investigate this properly and have him make Rodimus take crew health and well being policies more seriously.”

“I think perhaps the best way to do that is not to have Magnus talk to him, but bring him here.” the peach coloured mech suggested. Aid tilted his helm at that. “Here? Why?”

“He responds better to a problem when faced directly with the consequences of it. Show him Sunstreaker. Those two have a little history, Rodimus considers Sunstreaker a friend of sorts, the message will hit home harder if he sees first hand what the lack of policy enforcement has been leading to.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well, I doubt Sunny will mind considering he's in stasis for at least another ten cycles. So, no ideas on who you think actually DID this?”

Rung considered very carefully before answering. “There are a fair few mechs on board who are still bitter towards him. Most have no history of doing anything drastic in terms of pranks or in-fighting, or anything this serious really. I would say Whirl if I didn't know he has less animosity towards Sunstreaker than most of them, despite his propensity for extremely dangerous retaliation attacks.”

 

“I'm thinking Brainstorm, One of the minis, or Smokescreen.” Ambulon piped up as he wandered past with a box of parts to sort.

“Oh? What makes you say them?” Rung asked curiously.

Ambulon pulled a long suffering sort of face, dumping his box on the nearest berth. “Bot like me, most mechs don't pay me any mind. They talk away like I'm not there, I hear a lot of things they probably don't want me to in Swerve's. Brainstorm often complains about all the things he was doing at Kimia before 'the Traitor' got the place wrecked and he lost almost all of his work. The minis and Powerglide often have slagging sessions where they curse him out. Smokescreen whines a lot about the period of time they were stuck on Cybertron running from insecticons, I can only imagine he is not pleased with the mech who openly admits to causing that.”

 

Rung and First Aid shared a look. “I guess we better go to Ratchet and Magnus with this information.” the CMO in training murmured.

“I'll go. After I tell them, I'll find Rodimus and bring him back here, assuming Ratchet hasn't already tracked him down for a verbal assault.” the orange bot said wryly.

 

* * *

  

“Don't you give me that Magnus. What else did you think was going to happen? You allow the Insecticon on, expecting Sunstreaker to keep him from chewing on anything, and you only allot one ration for the BOTH of them-”  
“The ration allotments were under Red Alert's control.” The large mech rumbled evenly, grimace never changing.

 

“You oversee EVERYTHING Red does, don't you dare try to tell me you didn't see this. Not never-miss-a-micron-out-of-place Magnus. You saw it and you chose to do NOTHING about it. Did you expect to catch him letting Bob chew on the engine block? You wanted to have an excuse to boot him, was that it? Or did you know he'd be giving his energon to the bug at the detriment of his own health and just not care? Let him punish himself for the misdemeanours you mentally assign to him?”

 

“He has credits of his own. There is a commissary, it is only fair he purchase the extra energon to keep his pet on board, the allowance of the Insecticon was only because Rodimus insisted.” Ultra Magnus rumbled, face impassive, but optics telling just how ruffled the medic was getting him.

 

“Well isn't that a convenient excuse. You expected him, from the start, to buy energon from a bar that didn't yet exist, and which doesn't even serve anything weaker than spiced oil. Nice try, but I don't buy it. Don't bother making your excuses to me Magnus, I'm taking this to Rodimus. I just wanted you to know you're not above scrutiny here, enforcer of the tyrest accord or not, I expected better from YOU of all mechs.”

 

“He sold his entire faction out, Ratchet. You are aware that you are defending a traitor that is lucky to of held onto his insignia, are you not?”

“You are aware that you're defending unprovoked torture, aren't you Ultra Magnus?” Rung stood at the door, which Ratchet hadn't closed when he'd stormed in.

Neither of them had noticed the small gaggle of bots that had gathered outside to listen, all of whom bar Rewind having scurried off when Rung arrived. As ever, the archivist was doing his job.

 

Ultra Magnus turned his impassive glare on the orange mech, Ratchet giving the psychotherapist an approving sort of look for his comment. 

“Torture? I hardly think-”

“Sticky acid. Permeated through his systems, non-fatal, commonly used as a method of interrogative torture. And you're refusing to investigate it's use.” Ratchet growled.

 

“I never refused to investigate. I commented that it would have to take a back-bench to my current duties. Contrary to popular belief, my time is NOT spent rearranging every item on my desk to within a micron of a perfect geometry of ninths.”

“Of course not, everyone knows you do it in a ratio of fours.” Ratchet drawled, scowl deepening as he crossed his arms. “Your other duties can take a back-bench to THIS, we need to know who decided they were going to take Autobot law into their own servos, and that's your primary function, so damn well do it, or I'll reformat you into an oil waste processor.”

 

Magnus stared back at the CMO with equal measures of stubbornness. “Are you threatening me?”  
“Ooooh I could do much better if I was going to threaten you. I'm just stating facts.” Ratchet countered acidly.

Rung could almost SEE the tension between them it was so thick. His diffusive nature reared up instinctively. “I came because First Aid, Ambulon and I think we may have some suspects.”

Ultra Magnus turned and opened his mouth to dismiss that, but a look from Ratchet made him swallow anything he'd planned to say.

 

Once Rung was sure the silent exchange was complete between the two officers, he continued.   
“Our main suspects, according to Ambulon, are Brainstorm, Smokescreen, and the minibot clique. Apparently Brainstorm has a grudge about losing his work at Kimia, Smokescreen is still angry about the time spent avoiding the swarm, and the minis have regular complaint sessions with Powerglide about 'the Traitor'.” Rung explained calmly.

 

“I will take all of that into consideration. Typically with an investigation however, I will review evidence at the scene or scenes of the transgression, before seeking suspects based on the data I find.”  
“Get to it then. You've got all the authority you need to get into Swerve's bar and Sunstreaker's room.” Ratchet put his servos on his hips and stared at Magnus expectantly until, scowling worse than usual, he walked out of his office and headed off to begin his investigation.

 

* * *

 

 

Rodimus stood beside Rung in the medbay, scowling. Stupid shenanigans and pranks he could forgive. It was just the usual, friendly exchange of mild irritation, a bonding exercise between crew members. He let a lot of it slide, and when he couldn't, he doled out vanilla sorts of punishments. There'd been a few more serious transgressions, sure. He'd dealt with it accordingly. 

 

But this? This was WAY out of line. And what made him angriest about it was the fact he had no one to punish yet. No one to take out his frustration on... the anger he felt directed fully towards himself for FAILING yet another mech under his care. This WASN'T supposed to keep happening.

 

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Sunstreaker lying prone on a medberth with cables coming out of everywhere. Last time had been on earth. Last time he'd found the mech and led him back to base, it had been a successful mission to find him. Last time hadn't been his fault.

A part of him wondered why the golden mech was such a slag magnet. Sure, he'd had a lot in common with the front-liner once upon a time, even though some of it he didn't care to admit. They were both damn good fighters and knew it. They both had stunning features and knew it. They both had leadership qualities.

 

But after earth, something had changed in Sunstreaker, and their similarities had stopped. Not a lot of bots had the insight that Rodimus did. They hadn't seen what the humans had done to him, hadn't had him grasping at them, half out of his mind and begging for help, mind scrambled by the incursion of an organic presence where it shouldn't be. 

They also hadn't heard him screaming to get them out. 

They hadn't heard him begging for death. 

 

Rodimus hadn't told anyone but Ratchet about the night he'd found and brought Sunstreaker back after the headmaster incident. Sunstreaker's memory had been so scrambled that he hadn't remembered most of what happened that night either, and Rodimus had enough respect for him to have never spoken a word to anybot else.

 

He hadn't been happy with the betrayal any more than the rest of the Autobots. When word spread about who it was, Rodimus had dug a little deeper (Because at the time, he hadn't believed it, but it had become a lot clearer once he found out what Starscream had been promising Sunstreaker).

When he knew why Sunstreaker had done it, he'd found it a lot easier to forgive than he'd expected. 

 

And for all any of them had known, Sunstreaker was dead by the time he'd found out anyway. Rodimus had history with the golden bot. He knew what the mech had been through, he forgave him his shortcomings because he knew he was a changed bot, and he saw enough of himself in him still to want to give him a second chance. He'd been through enough hell. The pits before the war, the human fiasco, the living nightmare after Juda's bridge. And now someone thought it was a great idea to fill him full of sticky acid.

 

No. This was going to stop. He commanded this vessel. No one under his command was going to be made to suffer like this. He wasn't going to let mechs go around thinking he was a pushover and that they could get away with this behaviour. They wouldn't do it under Optimus Prime's command, they sure as frag weren't going to get away with it under his.

 

“He still has nightmares, doesn't he?” the red and orange mech asked quietly, still staring at the golden mech's stressed looking faceplates. Rung looked up at him ponderously for a few moments. 

“He does. When did you become aware of them?”

“We bunked in the same place when wheelie and I ran into him and Ironhide on Cybertron. A while before the whole Chaos event. He was still in a chair at that point. But yeah... we bunked in the same room. He never had a sound recharge. Don't blame him. Kinda hoped he was getting better since the Matrix fixed him up, but I guess memories don't fix that easy huh?”

 

“No. Unfortunately, they do not.” Rung sighed, laying a servo gently over the front-liners brow, smoothing the plating where his orbital ridges were pressed close together. Sometimes, even when unconscious, a cybertronian's body reacted to the sensations running through it, whether higher processors were aware of them or not. 

 

“Does he still not remember me finding him after the headmaster thing? Ratchet mentioned he might recover those memories, but he couldn't be sure. It was kind of a mess with a human making up most of his neuro-circuitry apparently.” 

Oh yes, and then there was said human. Rodimus had made the mistake of mentioning him only once. He'd never seen Sunstreaker look the way he did when he heard that name, and he never wanted to again.

 

This time, Rung gave the captain a more scrutinising look. “He has never mentioned it to me if he does. I suspect he does not... he is still under the impression he made his own way to the base after escaping the humans. I didn't know that wasn't the case?”

“Well, to be fair he got fairly damn far on his own. He was pretty messed up when I found him. Not surprised you don't know about it, Ratchet's the only mech I ever told about it in detail. I don't... it makes me kinda uncomfortable, talking about it. I prefer just copying and transferring the memories directly.”

 

Rung pursed his lip-plates slightly before nodding. “If you would really prefer to do that, then we can do that. I admit, the fact you feel the need to use a direct transfer makes me apprehensive about the memory in question.”  
“Oh, it's not like it was the worst experience of my life or anything, it's just... it's too hard to put into words what he was like, it's easier just to show you.” Rodimus replied with a heavy sigh through his vents.   


“Ah, I see. Well, that can wait until later. I do hope this has brought to your attention just how serious the breech of conduct is on this ship at present.” Rung stated delicately, affixing a rather stern gaze on the captain. Rodimus' optics flicked to his and held that gaze with one of humility before he looked back at Sunstreaker, jaw clenching. “It won't happen again. I'll make sure of it. Not letting bots think they can pull this slag under my command.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sunstreaker came around slowly, vocaliser hissing static. He was trying to call someone, anyone. He was trapped and he couldn't move and he didn't know WHY. He was panicking again. It was the humans, he knew it, he knew if he didn't destroy them it would happen all over again. That's all he wanted, to be sure they couldn't do it again. He never meant to hurt anyone, never meant to hand the decepticons the war, never meant for so many Autobot lives to be lost.

 

A cool servo on his forehead made him stop trying to call out. His optics powered up slowly, afraid of what they'd see. But no... there was no humans. He'd been stuck in a nightmare. Memories flicked back on like dingy lightbulbs in his mind, everything slow through a malaise of ache and static fuzz.

It was First Aid... that was right, First Aid had woken him up before. It had been a lot worse before. Now it was bad, but it was... tolerable, if he tried not to pay attention to the burning.

 

“We've got you hooked up to the basing solution now Sunstreaker. Perceptor finished synthesising it, we need to keep you conscious now to make sure it's working properly. Are you feeling alright?”  
The young medic shone a scanning light into each of his optics as he spoke, noting contraction and brightness. Sunstreaker didn't answer, but leant into the cool servo that had slid around to hold the side of his helm. 

 

“Your comms still work, your vocaliser isn't repaired yet though. We still have your frame locked down as well, so don't be alarmed that you can't move.”

The front-liner just grit his jaw and leant his helm further into the medic's servo, seeking the cool metal as he fought to pay attention to what was being said to him. His body was very distracting, the burning less tolerable the longer he was subjected to it. 

 

What made it even more uncomfortable was the cold sensation prickling through him from where basing agent was being fed into his lines. //How long do I have to be like this?//

“A few cycles. The pain should lessen, but the acid got in very deep. We may need to move you into a soak to get all of it. Right now the most important thing is to stop it from eating at your internals. Your energon tank is toast, we can't replace it until all the acid is gone.” He moved his servo to smooth Sunstreaker's brow again, which is what it seemed the mech was trying to get. The metal under it was a little over-warm, but not to a concerning degree.

 

Sunstreaker off lined his optics and shuddered slightly at the conflicting signals in his frame. He'd felt much worse than this before, but it was always an experience he dreaded. More-so since he'd been through his earth incarceration and the time at the bottom of Juda's pass. Suffering was bad enough without horrific memories and fear being stirred by it. His thoughts turned to the bots who continued to want to cause him that suffering, over and over. On one level... he felt he probably deserved it. On another, he wanted to escape it. He was tired of it. He didn't ever want to have to feel it again. Did he have the right to that yet? Had he suffered enough? No judge had set his penance time, but maybe not knowing was all part of the ultimate punishment?

 

//Aid... how much energon would a bot need to get back to Cybertron d'you think?//

The medic gave him a slightly confused look. “Um... I'm not sure, I'd have to work it out. I don't even know exactly where we are at the moment. Why?”  
//Because I fancy my chances in the Cybertronian wilderness better than on this ship right now//. He pulled a face as he spoke, pain flaring slightly before a wash of solvent through his lines eased it back again. 

Aid absently pet Sunstreaker's forehead as he frowned under his mask. “But... you were planet-side after that chaos incident thing weren't you?”

//Yes. I was planet-side DURING it too//.

“So... I mean I only read it in reports about the wilderness driving bots crazy after the planet-wide reformat. Surely you know about that?”

//Yes//.

 

Aid grimaced beneath his mask and paused in his petting. “Sunstreaker, if you are suicidal, I'll have to get Rung in here to talk to you while your motor functions are still offline. I know you don't really like the idea of forced sessions but-”

//I'm not suicidal. I mean... Well, it's not that. I just fancy my chances better in the crazed wilds than I do on this ship right now//.

He onlined his optics dimly, not looking at the medic, and not physically begging more pets from him, though he desperately wanted to. When Aid moved his servo under a helm fin and gently tilted his jaw so that the front-liner would look at him, he noted that behind the visor, the bot seemed genuinely concerned for him.

 

“The worst part about you saying that... is the fact I agree with you.” he sighed softly. A thumb absently rubbed along the edge of Sunstreaker's helm fin and the front-liner’s optics dimmed a little more. He focussed on the point of pleasure to combat the overall discomfort of pain. A very old technique he'd found worked well in the pits. First Aid didn't seem to realise he was even doing it.

“I wish I could say we'll put a stop to this nonsense. No matter what you did, you don't deserve this. No bot deserves this. I kinda feel like... like finding the bots who did it and punching them square in the jaw. And I'm a pacifist! But honestly, you're not up for judgement in the people's court here. Magnus should be putting a stop to this. And besides... they keep ruining my work.” he mumbled the last part in what seemed a nervous attempt at humour.

 

A genuine smirk pulled at Sunstreaker's mouth, and his optics brightened. //If you do find them and punch them and end up scratching your servos, I'll be happy to repaint them for you//. 

Sunstreaker was fairly sure that the increase in helm-fin rubs after that statement was not accidental.

 

* * *

 

 

“I am telling you Ratchet, I have no evidence. There is no footage, no witnesses have come forward after the general request was sent out, and I cannot force a confession out of any of the suspects. Either the perpetrator is not any one of them, or the rest of the crew is behind them in their misdemeanour.” Magnus scowled lightly. It was a neutral expression for him. Rodimus, sitting at his desk and scribbling idly with a laser scalpel, wore the same expression, but it was not so standard for him.

 

Ratchet stood opposite Magnus, bristling and glowering, and any bot could believe he was the same size as Magnus when he did that, despite only coming up to his chest. 

“You had better have a way to assure me you did your best Magnus _sir,_ because with the reluctance you showed to even take up the case in the first place-”

 

“No, Ratchet. He really has done about all he can. I made sure he followed through with his usual thoroughness. We really can't seem to get it out of anyone. They're either too scared to come forward, or they've closed ranks on the perps.” Rodimus interjected with a frustrated sigh, tapping the scalpel against the desk, staring moodily at his scribble. It was supposed to be Bob, but it wasn't very good. 

 

“Perps?” Ratchet frowned. “Perpetrators.” Ultra Magnus clarified with the air of someone thoroughly disapproving of whole words being cut down for the sake of sounding 'cool'. Especially legal terms. The medic gave an angry growl from his engine and huffed. 

“There's NOTHING you can do? So what am I supposed to do, Keep Sunstreaker permanently confined to the medbay to prevent any more attacks? I can only guess how well he'll take that.”

“Pretty well if Aid keeps treating him I reckon.” Rodimus muttered.

 

Ratchet cocked an orbital ridge at that. “Know something I don't captain?”

The red and gold mech looked up with something between surprise and wariness. “Oh... wait, you never saw when he was tending to Springer did you?... Your uhh... CMO in waiting has a habit of fussing over bots he likes a little more than regular patients. You hadn't noticed?” 

“Not really. There's not much to do in the medbay most days he's only got so many conscious patients to fuss over, and he DOES need to monitor Sunstreaker carefully to make sure the acid didn't get anywhere that it could cause serious injuries. Not like we can just ASK Sunstreaker where it hurts most, for him it just hurts everywhere.” he grumbled with a scowl, directing a pointed glare at Magnus, who's expression did not change.

 

“Yeah, well, it's not just the fussing, it's the LOOK. His visor gets that... glazed, polished look. He's got it bad for Sunny.” Rodimus gave the smallest smirk.

“Well, as fascinating as all that information is, it doesn't really help us find out who-”

Ratchet was interrupted by a knock on the door. All three of them turned when it opened to stare at Cyclonus. The purple jet wore his usual neutral broody glare. Magnus squared up and made himself look as authoritarian as ever.

“We are in the middle of something. Whatever it is Cyclonus, make it qui-”

 

“I know who poisoned Sunstreaker.” He drawled.

The three stared at him as though he had just grown another head.

After a brief silence, the purple mech tilted his helm slightly. “I believe you wanted me to be quick, so I will not wait for you to answer in that case. It was Smokescreen, but he did not act alone. He lost a bet to the minibots, and Brainstorm provided him with the chemicals he needed unknowingly.”

 

“And how do YOU know this? More importantly, why did you not come forward with the information when I was enquiring of the entire crew?” Magnus rumbled, annoyed.

“This information does not come from me. I was not present for the planning or the execution, but Tailgate was. He was too afraid to come forward himself, and I quote, 'If I tell Magnus he will crush me in his giant fists, and the others will find out and poison me too.'”

“Well. Nice to see how encouraged the crew feel about coming forward with any concerns to you Magnus.” Ratchet gave the larger bot a pointed glare, which again Magnus ignored with all the grace of a brick wall.   
“So is there more to it than that? Did Tailgate tell you more? Why they did it? How they planned it? How they got the poison into him without Swerve seeing?” Rodimus asked, frowning at the other two and concentrating on the purple flier.

 

“Yes, actually. He tends not to spare ANY details when he decides to tell me things... whether I want him to or not.” Cyclonus murmured with a long-suffering look. “Apparently, Smokescreen got rather drunk with Brawn, Huffer and Gears, and they decided to 'prank' Sunstreaker, since they all share a mutual dislike for him. The stakes were that the loser had to carry out the prank, whatever it was. Smokescreen was too drunk to notice the other minis cheating. He ended up with the task, which they decided upon his losing, was going to be using acid to poison him. Huffer advised him of the exact type, and that he could get it from Brainstorm if he made him think it was for something else. So, Smokescreen did, and then he slipped it into Sunstreaker's cube when it was on the server drone, just before it reached his table.”

 

The three shared a dark look. “You see Magnus? Did I not tell you this was serious?” Ratchet snarled. 

The larger mech's grimace deepened, and he did not meet the medic's gaze. “Cyclonus, from where did Tailgate witness all this?”

“He was waiting for me at the bar. I did not show up because I had no interest in drinking with him. From what I understand, Whirl tried to drink with him and he became distracted before he could tell Sunstreaker that something had been slipped into his drink. He was also not sure at the time if any of it was real or if HE was being pranked. Apparently, it would not be the first time Swerve has roped more than one bot in to 'freak him out', so he says.”

 

Rodimus stood and had an air of determination about him, moodiness replaced by purpose and conviction. “Magnus. You know what to do. Cyclonus... thanks. And tell Tailgate that next time he wants to tell us something, he just needs to come to me instead of Magnus. I promise not to crush him in my fist.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Eeeeasy easy... good, looks like the neural links in your lower spinal struts are healing.” Aid chirped cheerfully as he helped the larger golden mech to walk between two of the berths in the medbay. Bob scuttled around them chittering happily. 

“Nnngh... sure doesn't FEEL like it's healing.” he grunted, but there was no heat in it.

“The fact you can actually feel is good. Means the acid didn't chew all the way through the control cables. It was a close thing on the left leg.” The masked medic informed him in far too cheery a manner. 

“Oh, well, that makes me feel a whole lot better.” he huffed, shaking his helm as he reached one of the berths and sunk down onto it, fans whirring loudly.

 

“I think that'll be enough physio for today. You're making excellent progress considering you couldn't get your knees to lock a day and a half ago.” Aid patted his shoulder encouragingly and he managed to give the medic an almost smile. The young CMO trainee was beaming at him. At least, he thought that's what that expression was. It was hard to tell in bots with masks and visors.

Bob came shuffling up and put his front servos on the berth beside Sunstreaker, who reached out stiffly to scritch behind the bug's audials, making him purr.

 

“So how long d'you think before I can go back to my own quarters?” 

“Mmmm, once you can walk sufficiently on your own, I'd say we could allow it. We should know by then if we missed any of the acid, and injuries that result from it should have presented and been addressed by then too.”

“Ssssoooo how long before I can go?” he repeated the question with an amused lilt.

“OH, you meant timespan, of course. Considering your current progress, I'd say about four or five more days.” the medic informed him as he noted down things on the front-liner's medical datapad.

 

Sunstreaker groaned. “THAT long, seriously?”

“Seriously. I let you go any sooner and Ratchet will have my head.” 

Ambulon, who was wandering by with some freshly cleaned tools, murmured something along the lines of 'you'd rather he stay longer' and then something else about head, which seemed to greatly fluster FirstAid.

Sunstreaker did a poor job of disguising a small sound of surprise at the reaction Aid had, turning his helm down as if extremely interested in the way Bob was clicking his pincers contentedly on the back of his face-guards. 

 

After Ambulon had disappeared off, snickering, First Aid continued to busy himself with the file until Sunstreaker broke the awkward silence. “I know you said physio is over, but you overlooked something.”

Aid looked up, confused and a little concerned. “Oh? I did?”

“Yeah. I still have to get back to the ISO room.” he nodded to the door on the opposite side of the ward.

“Oh, that, that's no problem. I won't make you push yourself, doing TOO much will hinder your healing rather than help it.” As he talked he tucked the datapad away and moved around to Sunstreaker's other side.

 

The front-liner made a strangled sound of surprise when the small medic scooped his arms under knees and back and lifted him bodily, carrying him over to his room as if it were nothing. Bob trundled along behind them making slightly confused noises, Sunstreaker just gaping the whole way. He was still gaping when he was carefully deposited on his berth. 

“...You just-”  
“I know, I'm smaller than you. It's a gestalt thing. I have regular cables, but then I also have Defensor cables. A giant arm needs to operate on the heavy duty components you know. Just because I can't actually be an arm anymore, doesn't mean the cables for it are gone.”

 

Sunstreaker stopped gaping and just nodded in understanding. “Guess you learn something new every day. I'll make a note of it next to the fact you seem interested but won't say anything to me directly.”

Aid, who had been looking proud of himself for impressing the front-liner with his hidden strength, sputtered and lost his confidence again. “I... what? I mean... well... look, I, I know it's HIGHLY unprofessional-”  
“Did I SAY I wasn't interested back?” he gave Aid a look that clearly showed he was not adverse to the idea.

Aid's faceplate heated further. “Um... no?”

“Well then, since neither of us are DISinterested, maybe we should, oh, I don't know, talk about it more when you're off duty over a cube or two?”

 

The medic's embarrassment seemed to be slowly replaced by incredible giddiness. “really? I mean... yes! Sure! If you're sure?”  
“Wouldn't offer if I wasn't. Besides, Bob likes you, so you can't be all that bad.” he teased.

“Primus I hope not” Aid murmured nervously with a little giggle before excusing himself to go collect his thoughts and remember what he had left to do on his shift. Which was difficult when all his processor could now focus on was the end of his shift and the possibility that his interest in Sunstreaker was not one-sided.

 

In the ISO room, Sunstreaker lay down heavily, Bob clambering up on the berth to flop on him, purring as the scritches resumed. 

How had that been so easy? He loathed himself. Had loathed himself for years now. He'd actively AVOIDED getting involved with anyone, or letting them get involved with him. Mechs always wanted his body, sure. Hated his personality once they knew him, of course, but it had never stopped him being attractive, and he knew it. 

Even so, since he'd... since the whole earth thing, no one would touch him. No one would go near him. And honestly? He didn't expect them to either. 

 

So he should probably be more... what, surprised? No, not surprised... suspicious? No, wary? Maybe... First Aid taking interest meant he either didn't really understand what he'd done, or he didn't care. It was both nice and worrisome to think he didn't care since, well... what did that say about Aid? He was a pacifist, something Sunstreaker supposed he could overlook given he helped the cause anyway, and hell most medics were pacifists at spark (At least Autobot ones). But then he never struck him as detached enough from the war to not care that a bot... that HE had deliberately given away secrets that had helped lead to the deaths of thousands of their own faction. 

 

So yes... he supposed he was wary of Aid's apparent... fascination with him. Maybe it was just a physical attraction? He could understand that, and slag... the way he automatically entertained it when he wasn't sure he deserved it meant he was probably DESPERATE for it. 

Though there was still that mental problem of him not feeling like he deserved it. Despite the fact he'd done his time.

Oh, great, and now there was a little voice in his head that sounded very much like Rung telling him he should let his subconscious pursue this sudden outside interest. _Would it really be so bad to accept that kind of attention? There's no doubt you need it. You can't say you dislike the bot offering it. It's not as if you can't read the signs, he does want you, and he wants you THAT way obviously. What would it hurt to let things progress?_

 

He sighed and offlined his optics. He needed a nap so his self repairs could get to reinforcing the repairs. If he was going to entertain this whole... First Aid thing, he was going to need his independence back. He wasn't going to be much use as a frag buddy if he could barely support his own weight. That would be just embarrassing.

_Unless he were to restrain you so you couldn't move anyway, then it wouldn't matter._

 

Sunstreaker was both a little surprised at how inviting that thought was and how disturbingly like Rungs voice it had sounded in his head.

The psychotherapist was having an extremely odd effect on him and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He really hoped at the moment that it was just the pain killers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a fine line between pleasure and pain, and Sunstreaker is well used to walking it. When he walks it with someone throwing him a lifeline, he finds it's not so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyooo, so i'm posting this in like a little celebration for reaching 600 followers on Tumblr. I doubt most of them actually READ this story, but if they don't, they should, because this chapter has fun stuff in it, by which i mean there is smut and Laura was laughing over skype as she read bits. Soooo yeah... enjoy I guess.
> 
> Chap has been Beta-read by Zomgitsalaura, cause she's fuckin awesome.
> 
> P.S when the fuck did this chap get 12,000 words long holy shit I thought it was only like 7000 woops.

“I can hear how tired you are from here. If you need to rest Sunstreaker, don't try to stay up on my account.” First Aid wandered into the ISO where the golden mech had been revving slightly at odd intervals as he forced himself out of stasis initiation.

“We can always postpone our um... plans, until after my next shift. Your systems need the stasis time for repairs, you shouldn't fight it.”

 

Sunstreaker heaved a sigh of defeat. “Why do you have to be so observant?”

 

“Because if I wasn't I'd lose a lot more patients.” Aid answered matter-of-factly, fishing out one of the suppressant chips and handing it to him. “You've got no excuses now. Besides, no point having energon with a bot that's falling asleep.”

 

“You just have all the angles covered don't you?” Sunstreaker smirked, taking the chip gratefully and saluting the young medic. “Guess I'll see you on the other side.”

 

The red and white bot gave the insecticon sprawled over Sunstreaker's lap a quick pat and went to leave the room when the frontliner's voice halted him.

“Hey Aid... thanks. Y'know, for... the chips. I know they're standard issue under Rung's recommendation and whatever but... still, thanks.”

By the time First Aid could think of any response to the awkward smile and thanks, Sunstreaker had already slipped the chip into an arm port and fallen into recharge.

 

“Yoooou just gooootta pick the most messed up ones don't you?” Ambulon sighed, wandering past with a datapad, reviewing one of their semi-permanent patient's files.

Aid left the ISO, shutting the door behind him and frowning at his old ward manager.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“First the big green one, then the big comatose angry one, now the more violent of the terror twins. I'm starting to think spark-breakers is a pre-requisite for your tastes in bots.” Ambulon looked up at him, tapping his stylus on the edge of the pad. His expression was half amused, half exasperated.

 

“Seriously? YOU want to question my taste in mechs? WHO had the pinup of a certain pro-wrestler on the roof of their quarters for about three vorn?” Aid answered coolly, wandering over to the energon cooler to get some more infusions to go into the ISO rooms.

“I appreciate Bulkhead's aesthetics and power conduit assembly, I don't have a poster of him because I like his personality. You are just looking for an emotional beating with the bots you chase. Seriously, they have PTSD exuding from their every seam, you are playing with charged plasma here.” he quipped back with a raised optic ridge.

 

“And why do you care? What's with the sudden interest in my personal life and who I want to get to know better?” the red and white mech tried not to sound defensive and failed spectacularly, glad as ever for the mask that was hiding his semi-pout.

“Because it's PAINFUL to watch, Aid. And then when you realise you can't get close to them for whatever reason, you MOPE, and it drives me NUTS. Springer used you for a quickie, Fort Max was oblivious, and now you want to shack up with a socially inept emotional invalid. Aid you need to pull out now, whatever you think you're going to get from him, trust me, you're NOT.”

 

“And how do YOU know? You've barely ever even spoken to Sunstreaker!” the young medic huffed, bustling about trying to find things to busy his servos with, feeling heat under his mask building as he got more flustered by Ambulon's attitude.

“Aid, we're talking about a terror twin. He has a reputation on BOTH sides, always has. He can be vicious, and now he's got a head full of bad memories to boot-”

 

“EVERYONE does, we've all been through a war spanning millennia! If I try to look for unscarred bots to get with I'm going to be looking for a long time-”

 

“AID, you KNOW what mechs do when they've got short tempers and bad memories. You're not just going to get dumped as soon as he's swapped paint, you're going to get physically HURT. I mean hey, do what you like, you know how much damage you can take, and if you like that sort of thing it's not my business. BUT, you have responsibilities here! Ratchet's taken you on to fill his position and you can NOT afford to be putting yourself in harm’s way, physically OR emotionally, when you have that kind of responsibility riding on you.”

 

Aid paused and looked at Ambulon when the serious voice happened. Ambulon usually drawled or murmured, and it got more pronounced the more sarcastic or annoyed he got. But when he got serious, everything became sharp. His gaze, his tone, and his words. Ambulon was not a mech that messed around when he meant business.

“I know that. I know how much faith Ratchet has in me, and YOU know I can always do my job flawlessly, no matter how... emotional I might be at any given moment. But I'm not... I can't just STOP feeling attracted to someone. And I'm not going to deny myself a little enjoyment if I can get it. I CAN take care of myself. You KNOW that, so why are you REALLY bringing all this up?”

 

The tri-coloured medic grimaced at him before looking away. “What, you think just because I'm an ex-con and your ex-ward manager that I don't give a slag about your wellbeing?”

 

Aid's scowl turned into bright-visored surprise at that. He noted how Ambulon's voice had softened back into a mumble as he said it too.

 

“I... look... I appreciate that you care. But honestly, Sunstreaker really isn't as bad as all that.”

 

“Yes, well... he's a slightly better pick than Maximus, I'll give you that.”

 

“Pfff, you can't tell me you don't find him attractive, I know what you're like about those shoulders.” Aid gave him a playful helm tilt.

 

“The helm thingies ruin it for me. Also the barely contained sub-surface rage he has going on. Also the fact I'm ex-con and he's a prison warden, that's the nail in the coffin for that potential crush.”

 

The two of them snickered at each other, going back to their time-filling tasks.  
“Seriously though, it is hard to work with you when you get mopey about your interests not being interested back.” Ambulon added, giving Aid a meaningful look.

 

“Well, you're just going to have to take me as I am, an emotional medical genius with a liking for damaged warriors.”

 

“Damaged? More like totalled.”

 

“Oh shut-up. Anyway, Sunny has it rough enough without you throwing more stones. He's so unused to anyone being friendly with him I think he thinks I just want to bang bumpers because he's good looking.”

 

“Should probably stick to that impression.” Ambulon sighed. “I'm telling you, you're getting in over your head with him. His issues have issues.”

 

“Yeah, well, the way I see it, it's about time someone offered him some positive interaction. If I don't stop him slipping any further, who will?”

 

“Rung?” Ambulon raised an orbital ridge at him in a 'that should be obvious' way.

 

“Pfff, Rung is a professional. There's levels he can't connect with Sunstreaker that I can.” Aid waved his servo at the other medic.

 

“If he lets you.” the ex-ward manager pointed out.

 

“Yeah. Well. So far so good.”

 

They were silent again for a while, eventually ending up sorting cables together. There was a soft scuffling sound from Sunstreaker's ISO room, and Aid went to open the door as Ambulon gave it a weird look.

  
“It's ok, it's just Bob. He's either hungry or he just wants some attention.” Aid explained as he let the insecticon out and promptly stumbled from Bob rubbing up against his legs affectionately.

 

“Aaaaand then there's the pet. Good thing you like pets.” Ambulon snickered as Aid scritched Bob behind the audials and gave him some energon sticks out of a hip compartment.

 

“Yeah, but who DOESN'T like Bob? He's probably the nicest aberration of cybertronian life I’ve ever met.” the CMO in waiting chuckled, wandering over with Bob in tow and sitting down.

 

The bug bot promptly stuck his helm on Aid's thigh and was scritched with one servo while the other continued sorting.

  
“Ssssooooo... you think the rumours are true?” Ambulon murmured, side-eyeing Bob.

 

“What rumours?”

 

“Y'know... that Sunstreaker keeps him around as more than just a pet”

 

Aid gave the other medic a blank stare at that.

“Are you seriously saying you believe that he uses Bob as a... a...”

  
“Berth buddy? Well, he HAS been alone an AWEFULLY long time.”

  
“Ambulon! Nooo that's aweful, shut-up... ugh, no, just... no, he is NOT fragging Bob.”

 

“Well how do you know?”

 

Aid threw up his hands “I am not having this conversation with you. I'm just not. Stop laughing! Where did you even HEAR that?”

 

The tri-coloured mech tried to stifle his chuckling, Bob giving them a wide optic'd, innocent, confused look. “Just repeating what I've heard! I'm not saying it's a nice theory, but it IS a theory. Besides, you'll want some forewarning incase Sunstreaker has this conversation with you and asks if you're up for-”

  
Ambulon broke into laughter again as Aid threw an empty infusion bag at his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Aid expected more screaming. But the golden mech, optics near-white in agony barely made any sound beyond the stuttering of his ventilations and the whine of his engine. Aid ignored the pain in his servo as Sunstreaker gripped it hard. The grip kept slackening as the frontliner trembled and twitched.

 

All it had taken was a pocket of acid stuck in a shut-down tube leading to his spark chamber. When Ambulon had gone to remove it for replacement, a fairly routine task, the little globule had gotten into the chamber.

 

Beyond a casing scrub, which was an ordeal in and of itself, nothing could be done to stop the pain of acid on a spark. It said a lot about how used to agony Sunstreaker had become that he didn't scream.

 

Sparks could heal themselves with enough energon and time, and the acid was not life threatening, but the torture of it was said to be utterly unbearable. FirstAid used the servo not holding Sunstreaker's to rub at a helm fin to try and distract from the pain, but he wasn't sure it was doing anything other than offering some gesture of comfort.

 

The golden mech writhed and gasped as wave after wave of burning fire seared through his spark. He couldn't think straight because of it, he kept having to remind himself he was not bonded to Hunter any more, and this was not a result of the merge. It sure felt like it. So much so he was glitching, old memory caches surfacing because his mind was trying to reconcile the feeling with something it had felt before. The closest thing being his stint with the human.

 

He'd been through a lot of types of torture before. He could categorise them all, the types of wound, the types of injury, the different flavours of pain. He knew them all intimately, could describe every single one in acute detail. This was a type he'd not felt often and hoped never ever to feel again.

 

He wasn't surprised by the slight hallucinations brought on, but he was confused, in moments of lucidity, about the ones presenting as actual memories. They had timestamps, they were from his view but... not. It was his head. But it didn't feel like his.

 

Oh. _Oh._ He arched and gave an abortive keen as his spark flickered, trying to neutralise the acid by spinning faster to burn it off. Beyond the acid burn, the feel of his spark rate oscillating so high when he was immobile was a whole other kind of uncomfortable. Normally a fast resting spark-rate was a fear response, and he loathed fear. Because for much of his life he didn't experience it much. He had been confident in his power to overcome anything that threatened him or his brother. He never got close enough to anyone else to fear for their safety. Worry a little maybe, but never actually care enough to _fear_.

 

So when he'd found himself in situations where he couldn't overcome the forces working against him, fear had suddenly reared its ugly head, moved into him, and never left. And he hated it with an almost painful intensity. But that was emotional pain, and it was categorically far removed from the type he was feeling physically right now.

 

Images flickered across his mind again and he became lost in the horrific visions of running from Scorponok. His spark burned and the ghost feeling of transformation flittered through his systems, even though he was mode locked. In his head he could see as though he was in his alt mode, his driving was terrible. He wrestled control and sped blindly through human streets, around their vehicles, ignoring their horns and the shouts of protest. He sped towards the edge of town and-

 

Another jolt snapped him from the replay and he shuddered, vents heaving to cool his frame. He hadn't moved, but he felt as if he'd just done all of the driving in the memory. FirstAid's face hovered over him. He was sure the medic was saying something, but his processor was too caught up in its tangle of thoughts and images to process the audio of the world around him.

 

The berth beneath him felt as if it was swaying, and he twitched as he was dragged back into the replay. It wasn't running in regular time. It jumped between the moment Hunter merged with him and the escape. He was staggering through a scrapyard, breaking a fence, dragging himself between large, unmarked buildings. Factories and warehouses. And then there was a flash of flames.

 

Sunstreaker focussed in when he recognised the image. He tried to distance himself enough from his agony to concentrate on the memory. It was so corrupted, he knew it had to of been during the break-down of the bond. He and Hunter had been fighting each other for control the whole time, and his mind and body could only take so much. He saw himself clutching at HotRod's legs. His own had stopped functioning. He clawed at the mech like an anchor in a turbulent ocean. And he watched the horror dawning on the other mech's face as he begged him. Begged him for mercy. Begged him for death.

 

* * *

 

 

“Aid, you're going to need to hold his shoulders down while I do this. Ambulon, you hold his lower half down. State he's in, I doubt he'll struggle much anyway, but I need him still.” Ratchet ordered calmly as he arrived, bringing the casing scrub gear with him.

The two did as instructed, Aid having very little trouble extracting his servo from Sunstreaker's now slack, twitching hand. He wasn't sure if the mech had retreated into himself to try and escape the pain, or if it was simply making him so unable to process he was just drifting in and out of lucidity. He moved to the head of the berth and braced his arms over Sunstreaker's shoulders, leaning enough weight on to keep him still.

 

Ambulon wasn't taking any chances on his end, straddling the golden bot's legs and pressing down on his hips so his whole weight would hold the warrior should he put up more of a fight than they expected.

 

Ratchet went about opening Sunstreaker's casing and preparing his kit. Carefully, and with practiced calm, he went about siphoning the inner energon into a small filter and cleaning out the inside of the casing while it was empty, delicately working around the fluttering, distressed spark as he went. Sunstreaker barely made any indication he even knew what was happening. He certainly didn't put up a fight.

 

He did pull a face as he focussed in on the discomfort of the tool poking around in his casing. “Why didn't you tell me Ratchet? Nngh, why didn't you le-et me know that Rodimus found me...” he gave a shuddering gasp and twitched as his spark gave a throb. The sting had dulled slightly once his innermost energon had been taken out to be cleansed. The acid within it now removed from contact with his spark. All that was left was what had made its way into the corona lattice of his actual spark and the inside surface of the casing. The feeling of a dry spark was never comfortable though.

 

The old medic gave him a slightly perplexed look before it dawned on him why the subject had even come up. “Ah... those memories have surfaced have they? I didn't tell you Sunstreaker, because he asked me not to.” Ratchet responded quietly as he continued his delicate work.

 

“ _Why_ though?” he grit out, gasping through his vents and shuddering hard enough that the CMO had to withdraw the tool momentarily before he stilled enough for him to continue.

 

“You'll have to ask him. I suspect he was trying to preserve your pride and never thought it necessary for you to remember. And honestly... does it change anything?” Ratchet replied calmly, cleaning diligently around the casing.

 

“Ye-es... it does.” Sunstreaker's vocaliser hitched and his vents stalled as agony lanced through his core. He got lost in the replay, damaged and corrupted files flitting through his mind as it made a half-sparked attempt to restore them. When he came back to himself, he continued. “All this... all this time I thought it was me... just me, that I got myself back to base... that no one was looking for me. And I was _wrong.”_

 

“It still doesn't change anything. If Rodimus thought you owed him anything he wouldn't have kept it from you. As it stands... it's possible he said nothing because he didn't want you to be angry at him for not granting your request.” Ratchet's voice was soft, but pointed. Sunstreaker knew, even though it wasn't said, that what he meant was Rodimus didn't want him to be mad because he didn't kill him.

 

Honestly though, if he had been in his right mind, Rodimus was not the mech he'd go to for assisted suicide. The bot didn't have that sort of stuff in him. Certainly not when he was Hot Rod. Remembering how the flame painted mech had looked at him when he'd found him, he felt... bad, for putting him in that situation. It was a kind of remorse he wasn't used to, and he could taste a definite note of shame underlying his regret. It was not like him to care that much about what he had done to others in his moments of distress.

 

He was silent as the clean-out continued, gritting his jaw so hard he could hear the pistons and micro-motors straining.

 

“Do you remember anything else? Other memories that were corrupted by Hunter's presence?” Ratchet asked quietly.

  
“...Yes. I... the escape... Scorponok... the actual... the bonding process.” He shuddered, grunting softly from the sensations before going silent again.

 

The CMO nodded and removed his little cleaning sponge tool, hooking up the container with the now cleansed innermost energon.

As soon as he filled the spark chamber back up with it... what there was of it after the millennia of war that had seen the frontliner sustain more than one chamber breach... Sunstreaker began to feel relief. The burn became dull, most of the acid now removed or neutralised.

 

“Feeling better?” Ratchet rumbled, tilting Sunstreaker's helm towards him and scanning his processor function.  
Sunstreaker made an affirmative noise, optics dim and tired.

“Good. Your spark should burn the rest out over the next few cycles. It'll be uncomfortable, but bearable. Aid will stick around to monitor you and make sure there's no more surprise pockets of acid in your lines.”

 

Sunstreaker nodded and began to force himself to relax, cables aching from how tense he'd been. As much as he hated pain, the relief of coming down from it was an oddly pleasurable feeling to him. He wasn't sure if that was normal or a conditioned response from his pit fighting days, when pleasure had been a rare commodity he'd taken anywhere he could get it.

 

Either way, his engine began to wind down, sensor net buzzing slightly. He was completely unfazed by his chestplates being left open and spark casing exposed. The cool of the medbay on his over-heated internals was a welcome relief. Ratchet leant back into his line of sight with a pat to his shoulder. “I've scheduled a visit for you with Rung tomorrow. It's just a check-up, he's not gonna press you for anything, just wanted to let you know. You good kid?”

 

Sunstreaker made another affirmative noise and gave a nod, Ratchet giving him one last searching look, seemingly satisfied by whatever he saw in the frontliner's optics, before pulling back and leaving, Ambulon in his wake. He missed the look the tri-coloured mech shared with the trainee CMO.

 

Aid gave Ambulon a silent 'shoo' gesture with his head and got down to the business of carefully replacing the other lines Ambulon hadn't got to. He re-established the input and output seals on the casing beforehand so they wouldn't just repeat what had happened. Skilled servos moved deftly, carefully and efficiently getting through the work.

 

FirstAid's mind wandered slightly. He really hoped the bots responsible were getting a thorough chewing out from SOMEONE. Though it was likely to be Rodimus rather than Magnus, which he was still rather cross about. As were Ratchet and Rung. If Cyclonus hadn't come forward with the information he had, Aid didn't doubt that the case would have been left unresolved for lack of evidence. But since there was a witness, Magnus had been forced into FINDING the evidence, which hadn't taken very long.

 

The young medic was brought out of his introspective thoughts by the rev of a powerful engine. He refreshed his visor, looking up at the frontliner's face, surprised by the odd expression and small huff of what he thought was pain. He looked back down at Sunstreaker's spark casing, having finished the line replacements and opened all the valves, and realised he'd been touching it gently even though he'd already made sure the connections were set.

 

He removed his servo as if burned. “Oh, slag! I'm sorry Sunstreaker, I didn't mean to hurt you-”

  
“No... no, not hurting... Primus not hurting, opposite of hurting.”

Aid stiffened at the breathless quality of the golden mech's voice. He'd never heard him sound like that. It certainly did SOMETHING to his spark, and he wanted it to happen again.

 

Tentatively, biting at his lip-plate beneath his mask, he rested his servo on the spark casing again, and rubbed his thumb against an energon inlet connection.

The soft, shuddering moan he got in response was definitely not pained. And there was that flaring in his spark again. Primus, the golden warrior looked like a different mech when his optics were dim from pleasure and his lip-plates parted and gasping for cool air.

 

Ooooh but this was so not professional of him. Then again... an overload would probably help the frontliner's spark burn out the remaining acid faster. He thanked Primus the ISO was soundproofed, if Ratchet caught him doing this he'd get such a verbal lashing his audials would be buzzing for a week.

 

He was a little torn, because as wrong as he knew it was to stimulate a patient like this, it hadn't happened on purpose. And inevitably, it had positive health benefits.

Really though, how could he be expected to stop when in trying to exert some self-control, he took his servo away only for Sunstreaker to grasp it back and give him a pleading look.

 

The frontliner knew the touch was only effecting him so intensely because the pain had sensitised his haptic array, especially around his laser core. It didn't make an iota of difference to know this, because all he could think about was how much he didn't want FirstAid to stop.

 

In the back of his mind there was a little voice telling him now was probably a bad time, that this was taking things way faster than the medic likely wanted them to go, but he was exhausted, over-receptive and not in the mood to listen to his sensible side.

 

The medic couldn't refuse Sunstreaker, not when he gave him that kind of look. He wanted it, he wanted it achingly badly. Wanted to touch every inch of the frontliner, trace every transform seam, explore every beautiful plane and angle with his sensitive palms.

 

But he knew Sunstreaker was compromised. As much as he didn't want to leave him hanging with a charge, the mech had just been having memory recall and zoning in and out.

 

Not to mention he'd had a casing scrub, which was technically a surgery. He was surely tired. His lucidity was dubious. Consent was paramount, and FirstAid wasn't sure Sunstreaker was really in any state to give it.

 

“Aid... please...” his voice was hoarse and quiet. He was clearly uncomfortable with pleading for touch. Aid's throat tubing clenched slightly as his internal conflict intensified.

 

“Sunstreaker... take a deep ventilation. Just... I won't do anything until I know you're in control of your faculties. I need to know that if you say yes, you've thought it through. This isn't... strictly allowed. It's my fault, I didn't think, your sensor net-” he stopped with a small noise of surprise as Sunstreaker took one of his servos and nuzzled at the palm gently.

 

“Aid, if I didn't want it, id've already punched your lights out.”

There was a slightly uncomfortable beat as the frontliner hoped desperately he hadn't just put his foot in his mouth somehow with his awkward statement, and Aid processed the sincerity and clarity of his words. The way Sunstreaker continued to nuzzle at his palm really wasn't helping him to think straight.

 

His decision was ultimately made for him when his palm was _licked_ and his other servo was guided back to the exposed spark chamber.

 

FirstAid petted the casing, drawing a soft moan out of the golden mech, the vibration travelling into his palm and making him mewl.

  
It didn't take Sunstreaker long to drag him up onto the berth, despite not having the energy to really sit himself up. He even managed to get the medic between his legs somehow, and Aid couldn't remember quite how either because the frontliner REALLY knew how to treat medic's hands.

 

He was snapped back to reality again by the snick of a panel and the smell of fresh lubricant. Looking down, he gave Sunstreaker a shocked look. Was he... he wanted... to be spiked?

 

Well slag, he'd been thinking tactile was as far as he dared go. The conflicted feeling was back again.

 

“Sunstreaker are you _sure_ you're thinking this through? You're tired, you've just been through another major trauma-”

  
“Not THAT major. Been through worse.” the frontliner murmured moodily, shifting beneath him slightly and lapping at each digit on his left servo in turn, making him shiver.

 

“Ngh... stoppit, you're making it hard to think.”

  
“Then don't think. Just FEEL.” Sunstreaker said hoarsely, taking an index finger into his mouth and sucking it lightly, giving Aid what he could only describe as a sultry look. Something he had no right being able to pull off in his condition.

 

“A-ahhnn... S-sun... please, I'm se-erious...” he whimpered as the golden mech _purred_ around his finger, sending delicious tingles of pleasure shooting up his arm, straight to his spark. Now this really was just not fair. He retaliated the only way he could think how, reaching his free servo out to rub at a helm fin.

 

That only made things worse, Sunstreaker MOANING around his digit and making him arch and gasp. He was given a reprieve, Sunstreaker relenting and freeing his digit as he panted slightly through his vents.

 

“Aid... don't worry about my state of mind. I'm not magically going to regret this later. Question is, are YOU?”

 

The medic did his best to focus on what Sunstreaker was actually saying, instead of the husky tone he was saying it in. “I...I won't, but... you want... are you sure you want to go this far?”

 

“If I have my panel open, then I want to go this far. And before you say it, I know, I come across as more of a spike mech. I am sometimes, but not right now. Just... I want this. I want to feel something other than pain. I want to be _wanted._ ” he half whispered, a desperate edge to his voice that belied how worked up he was.

 

Aid had barely done anything to him. Surely playing with his servo hadn't been getting him in the mood?

 

Primus, and everyone called this mech selfish. Yet here he was, getting off on getting him worked up. Aid's doubts were worn down completely by the look in Sunstreaker's optics, and he let his panel click open, servo escaping his hold to join the other in sliding down the frontliner's sides.

 

He curled them around golden thighs to lift them up and out, making room for himself. His spike pressurised quickly, and he felt his faceplates heat when Sunstreaker revved at the sight of it. There was nothing particularly special about it, but Sunstreaker seemed very eager regardless, legs wrapping loosely around the medic's hips.

 

Aid released the golden thighs and settled himself low on the berth, sliding the underside of his spike over the frontliner's well lubricated entrance. If he wasn't worried about getting caught, he'd take his time, working Sunstreaker over with hands and mouth, but the room was too bright for his photosensitive face-plating to take his mask off and he shuddered to think what getting caught now would mean.

 

Sunstreaker didn't seem to care about the lack of foreplay, reaching up to his sides to play with the tyres tucked away there, egging him on. He was too exhausted to bother with waiting and messing around. That and he didn't want to give Aid time to start thinking again instead of feeling and abort.

 

Aid leant down to nuzzle the still exposed spark casing as he lined up and slowly sunk his spike into Sunstreaker's valve. The golden mech arched and gasped, clutching his tyres with shaking servos and uttering Primus' name.

 

FirstAid gasped more from how gratifying the reaction was than from the actual feel of his spike sliding into the snug valve. Sunstreaker overall was bigger than him, but he'd repaired the valve himself, and it was obvious Sunstreaker hadn't touched it since it'd become useable again.

 

He therefore tried not to let the sounds Sunstreaker was making go to his head. Any touch to his recently fixed valve would feel pretty damn good, but he still liked to think he was skilled with his spike.

 

After all, the angle at which he began thrusting was calculated for maximum effect on the anterior nodes. Something which was certainly doing as much for him as it obviously was for Sunstreaker.

 

The golden mech arched and swore, seeking out one of Aid's servos again and dragging it to his mouth to lavish with attention. He was not going to last long and he knew it, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to drag FirstAid over with him. His public reputation might be tarnished, but he was not a negligent lover.

 

And Primus how he'd missed this... a warm body moving against him, pleasure coursing through his frame like some kind of delicious high-grade flooding his lines, his tolerance for it low from going without for so long.

 

He was a creature who liked his pleasures, and only when he regained them was he realising what he'd been missing for so long. He rocked up against Aid, despite how strained and worn out his body felt. It wasn't the first time he'd fragged when his body could barely move, and it wouldn't be the last.

 

The sounds FirstAid made as he rocked into him and his fingers twitched against his mouth were intoxicating. The masked and visored mech was normally so... so upright, so pleasant and dare he even say _innocent._

 

Sunstreaker knew full well the medic wasn't innocent, or naïve. But he had a purity about him that just made such a stark contrast to the mech bowed over him, driving into him with increasing force.

 

And Primus almighty but he knew JUST how to tilt his hips, knew how to stroke at his side, how to treat his helm crests, he just... there was no other word coming to the golden mech's mind beyond _amazing._

 

Sunstreaker lapped and panted hot air over FirstAid's servo and sucked on the heel of his palm, making him moan and shudder, bucking hard enough to hit his ceiling node.

The frontliner responded with a pleasured cry and squeezed Aid's hips slightly with his legs. A silent plea for _more._

 

Aid abandoned any pretence of control and slammed his hips against Sunstreaker's, a shiver of lust sliding like molten metal down his spine at the wanton moan the frontliner let out.

 

His digits were being sucked like spikes now, and before he knew it, he was on the edge of overload. Judging by the sounds coming from Sunstreaker's engine and vocaliser, so was he.

 

FirstAid went in for the 'switch'. He knew the science behind it, but he wasn't thinking like a medic, he was thinking like a lover. He knew what would tip Sunstreaker over the edge, he'd noted just how much he'd liked the way he touched his helm crests.

 

Spark casing would have been just as effective, but it wasn't about node receptiveness. It was about paying attention. He reached his free servo up and ran delicate fingers down the slats, hard enough to set the nodes off but not enough to dent.

 

Sunstreaker gasped and bucked against him, valve clenching hard as he was tipped over the edge, optics flashing and offlining as he arched into the medic. FirstAid keened softly, burying his face against Sunstreaker's neck and feeling the frontliner's engine reverberating through his whole frame as his spike was squeezed and pressed for as much transfluid as he had to give.

 

The wash of the golden mech's E.M field was made particularly strong by having his casing exposed, and Aid meshed his own with it willingly as they rode the waves of pleasure and came down slowly off the incredible high.

 

They lay panting for a few kliks, plating pinging as it cooled. When FirstAid raised his helm to look at Sunstreaker, he noted how much more... relaxed he seemed. The underlying tension of a mech in constant pain had given way to a bot who was untroubled, relieved and ready for some peaceful rest.

 

FirstAid dragged himself up off the frontliner and slid himself out of the valve, which   clenched weakly at the stimulation. Sunstreaker gave a very low, sated rumble that made Aid shiver. Neither of them said anything, but Sunstreaker raised a servo to stroke a thumb down the side of Aid's mask, lingering.

 

Aid leant his helm into it, appreciating the rare, peaceful expression even as he scanned the golden mech.  
“You should rest. By the time you wake up, any spark discomfort should have passed.”

 

Sunstreaker made a non-committal sound of acknowledgement, apparently more interested in studying the medic's closed off features idly. “Don't feel bad ok? I know you're not supposed to... y'know... with patients. Still wanna have that drink with you.” he murmured, voice even hoarser than before.

 

Aid felt his spark do the same flaring thing it had before, and he lay a servo over Sunstreakers where it lingered at his cheek. “I don't feel bad. Primus... feel kind of amazing... you're kind of amazing. You need to rest though, you've been through a lot today.” he slipped a chip out of an arm compartment and set it at one of Sunstreaker's own. “I can handle clean-up, if you're alright with me doing that while you're out?”

 

Sunstreaker took another moment studying his visor before nodding and running his thumb down his cheek guard before letting it fall back to his side.

  
Aid pressed the chip into the port and within a few moments, the golden mech had slid into recharge.

 

* * *

 

 

Rung tilted his helm slightly, standing in the doorway of the ISO room. Sunstreaker was sitting up, petting Bob, who was sprawled over his lap, chirring.

 

“Sunstreaker... you seem... dare I say, content.”

 

The golden mech just looked up at him and gave the hint of a smirk. “Appointment time huh?”

 

“Indeed. Would you like me to close the door?” he stepped in and paused ready to close it behind him. He did so when the golden mech nodded, then moved to pull a chair from the corner and over to the side of the medical berth.

 

Bob made a small sound in way of greeting and clicked his mandibles happily on the back of his grill when Rung reached over and scritched his audial in greeting.

“For a mech who is recovering from acid to the spark and a casing scrub, you seem extremely well. And I say that as a curious observation rather than a suspicious accusation.”

 

Sunstreaker shrugged and tilted his helm to the side. “The medics here are good.”

Rung nodded, studying Sunstreaker's face, knowing there was some element here he was missing. There was a shift in the frontliner's optics and expression as he looked down at Bob.

 

A brush against Sunstreaker's E.M field confirmed what Rung suspected as he put all the little pieces together.

 

“Ahhh...You've interfaced with someone then?”

 

The rate at which Sunstreaker's expression changed from introverted contentment to shock to wary suspicion was impressive to say the least. “How the slag-”

 

“Very old, remember? I've had a long time to read on bot's faces when something changes. You may not realise it, but you're broadcasting it in your E.M field as well as on your face. My powers of deduction lead me to believe it was FirstAid.”

 

Sunstreaker's wide-optic'd spluttering was all the answer he really needed, and he gave him a gentle smile in return.

 

“Is 'really old' some kind of metaphor for 'fragging psychic'?”

 

Rung laughed at that. “No, it's an indicator of experience. I've had a lifetime of trial and error to help me, you did just give me a clue though. The medics here ARE good, but one in particular is especially good to you. I already knew he was interested in you. I merely put two and two together.”

 

“Smart little slagger aren't you. So are you going to report him to Ratchet for indecent patient liaisons or something?” he murmured, good mood slightly dampened at the thought.

 

He didn't want to get Aid in trouble. He just wanted to frag him. And try hanging out with him. And get fragged BY him again. The fact he was a patient was just an inconvenience in that process. Or a convenience. Depending on how much he cared about the rules.

 

Rung waved a servo. “No, no, I'm not going to report him. Primus only knows he needed it quite as much as you. Though considering you're restricted to this room, I wouldn't encourage you to do it again until you're out of medbay, it's a little risky, and certainly inappropriate for him. He's trainee to an extremely important position. He really doesn't need temptation to flout the rules at the moment. But I digress... this is an encouraging development. You do plan on following through with him, don't you?”

 

Sunstreaker nodded, looking back down at Bob, who had begun nibbling his hand when he'd stopped petting, going back to contented chirring when petting was resumed. “Yeah. I mean, the fact he wants to in the first place... he asked me earlier... before the acid in my spark happened... I was supposed to have energon with him after a shift. Still plan on doing that. Today, actually. It was just, after the casing scrub... The pain died down but my sensor net was still kinda edgy. He was working on my spark casing and it just... I don't know, he was doing something that felt really good, and I was tired, I didn't bother hiding the fact it felt good, and everything just... snowballed from there. I WANTED him. BADLY. Like if it had been Ratchet or Ambulon, I don't think id've had that reaction, it was just... HIM.”

 

Rung watched the golden mech carefully, making mental notes about the way he spoke of FirstAid, the awareness of his own attraction, the undertones of self-doubt. Oh yes, those certainly came through, much more, he knew, than the frontliner realised.

  
“You aren't sure if the attraction is desperation for contact or genuine affection?”

 

Sunstreaker gave him a look that told him he'd hit the nail on the head. “I'd like to say I could tell the difference... but I've never been in this situation, so... how DO I tell?”

 

“Well... do you desire non-interface contact with him?” Rung asked calmly, crossing one leg over the other and folding his servos in his lap.

 

“Yeah. He's nice. I have no idea what we have in common, or what the slag we're going to talk about, but I don't hate the thought of it like I do with a lot of other bots.”

 

“Are you interested in entering a relationship? One that is more than just casual?”

 

Sunstreaker paused to think about that one before shrugging.

“Don't know. Anyone to talk to who doesn't hate me would be nice, but I'm not a 'hang out with someone every hour I can' kind of mech. I like contact when I like it. I don't handle it well when I don't want it. But I also don't want to hurt him.”

 

Rung nodded slightly. “A lot of mechs are like that, you know. It's actually an odd thing when someone wants to have contact almost constantly. One of the reasons Chromedome and Rewind have had such a successful long term relationship is due to the fact they are both capable of giving each other space.”

 

Sunstreaker was surprised by how relieving that revelation was. He was also surprised it was a revelation to him. Clearly, this was one of the reasons he'd never been very good at relationships. He didn't actually have a benchmark for what was normal.

 

The smaller mech laced his fingers together. “Most importantly, are you apprehensive about the possibility of 'messing it up' with FirstAid?”

 

Sunstreaker gave him a slightly perplexed look before looking away to digest that question.

 

“I... yeah... I guess I am. I normally don't care if I frag someone off. With Aid it's like... I don't want to put my foot in it. I really don't want to say something stupid that hacks him off or makes me look like a massive jerk. He's one of the only bots on this ship that's shown me any kind of respect... not saying I deserve it, but he's given it to me anyway, and now he's actually _interested_ in me and... no, no I don't want to screw this up.”

 

“Well then, there is your answer.” Rung gave him a serene smile, which was countered with a confused look. He continued since Sunstreaker did not seem to see his point. “In my experience, you can tell the difference between simple lust and actual affection by how afraid you are of ruining a relationship. In some cases, a mech can be afraid of ruining the relationship even when it's based only on lust, but in those cases, the thing they fear to lose is having a berth buddy. Not the respect or affections of the other mech. You, Sunstreaker, are feeling genuine affection.”

 

The golden mech stiffened slightly at that, as the revelation seemed to click something on in his mind.

 

“Huh. Well. That's kind of new for me. So... I suppose there's no real handbook for 'how not to frag up a relationship before it even starts' is there?”

 

“There is, but it's written by an idiot, so I wouldn't take its advice. It's based very much on lust-interest, not affection-interest. The only advice I can really give you is... do not try to be what you are not just because you think it's what he wants. Give him you. If he finds he does not want you as you are, then... painful as it may feel, there is nothing to be done. But a failed, honest relationship is better than a successful one based on lies. Lies are far too difficult to maintain. It never ends well.”

 

Sunstreaker nodded and stared contemplatively at the wall beyond Rung for a few moments before speaking. “I'm not going to lie to him. I don't think I can even pretend to be something I'm not, you know what I'm like. I can't hide it. But... what about everything else. I'm... not exactly without any baggage. Frag, I have a whole subspace worth of baggage. I don't... think he should have to deal with it.”

 

Rung folded his servos in his lap. “Your baggage is not separate from you. Your life and the events that have shaped who you are don't exist separately to you. They are you. It all counts towards the same thing, be yourself, he will decide if he desires to be with you. But if what you mean is, should you try to HIDE your experiences?... That is up to you. I do not think he would appreciate you closing him off from things which still affect you. But I think he will respect your right to deal with those in ways you feel best, rather than push you about them.”

 

“Well that's a whole other problem.” he muttered, running a servo over his face. “How DO I deal with them? I can't keep taking suppressants forever, I know that. But I have no idea how to... get it out of my system, I guess?”

 

Rung looked thoughtful. “There's no single tried and true method to working through trauma. There are however several different things you can try, both as coping mechanisms and means to breaking down the things that are distressing you the most. It all depends very much on how an individual usually reacts to stress or works through problems.”

 

“So basically I have to figure it out myself?” he sighed exhaustedly, running a servo heavily over Bob's helm before scritching the bug's neck, making him chirr.

 

The orange and cream bot shook his helm slightly “No, not entirely. It's more a case of finding out what of the existing methods will work best for you. For instance... I believe you used to do art based on a far more emotional interpretation than a focus on realism. Would you say you used art as a release?”

 

Sunstreaker gave that a few moments of thought before he slowly nodded and looked up, a little wary of where Rung was going with that.

 

“You don't need to worry, I’m not going to say you need to start hitting an art quota to feel better. I would suggest though, that you extract your biggest problems by painting them out. However you normally would do so. Literally, abstractly, whatever is your usual method. Do you feel that would be of any help to you?”

 

The golden mech turned his optics down to Bob again without really seeing him, thinking over the suggestion. After about a klik of Rung's patient silence, he answered. “...I think so. But what then? I paint it... whatever is bothering me most... and then do something _symbolic,_ like destroy it?”

 

“What you do with it depends on what feels right to you. If destroying it would give you closure, then do so. I suggest though, that before you do anything with it, analyse it. Find out what parts of it make it stick with you, what it is about the instance in your artwork that bothers you most about it, and try to work out the best way to resolve those feelings. If you find it hard to work through your problems this way, then we can discuss other methods. For now, do you think you are comfortable trying the method of painting it out?”

 

Sunstreaker looked at him again briefly and nodded. Rung smiled sincerely at him. “Good. You know, I'm guessing you don't feel like you're making a lot of progress within yourself towards what you'd consider normality, but you are. You've come a very long way. Remember that. Now... I think I best be going. It's about the end of First Aid's shift, and I believe you two have a prior engagement?”

 

The corner of Sunstreaker's mouth pulled up and he nodded. Bob shifted in his lap to look around at the psychotherapist as he stood and leant over to scritch the insecticon briefly. “I shall leave you to it then. Have fun.”

 

The golden bot blinked in surprise as Rung winked before he wandered out of the ISO.

 

* * *

 

 

Sunstreaker gasped and revved. They'd gone to First Aid's quarters. Being a medic, he was allowed to bunk alone considering his importance to the crew and his odd shift hours.

 

This meant they had privacy there, and something else important, as Sunstreaker was finding.

 

The lights were dim. Extremely dim, and he'd just thought it was some kind of dorky mood lighting, except it had a much more practical purpose once Aid explained it.

  
And he'd most certainly paid attention to the explanation, because the medic had retracted his mask for it, and he'd been extremely mesmerised by those lip-plates. Their proportions were perfect to him.

 

And all this time he'd never seen them because of the young bot's light sensitive facial plating. The sensors so densely packed for the tasks he was built to perform that he couldn't stand a certain brightness without it overloading his receptors.

 

And so the dimness was apparently a constant in the bot's quarters, rather than for special mood purposes.

 

Sunstreaker didn't really care what the light levels were, because those lips had come closer and were currently pressing to his. They'd already trailed up his neck and along his jaw, which is what had elicited a gasp from him.

 

He kissed back tentatively, unsure if the light sensitivity also meant touch needed to stay light too. The medic pressing them harder against him ruled that out however. Apparently he'd just been testing the waters for a positive response.

 

And boy was he going to get one.

 

They hadn't planned on this, not at all. Their meeting over energon was supposed to be a chance to talk. To see how well they got on socially, to get to know one another properly before taking their 'thing' anywhere.

 

It seemed however that all either of them had been able to think about was their last frag, and had decided a quick retreat to somewhere private was best, since they weren't going to get any talking done until they'd repeated their previous experience under better, less stressful circumstances.

 

He was still in his wheelchair, something he didn't strictly need, but Aid had insisted upon so that he didn't upset his already taxed and recovering systems. He'd found it much easier to give in to the medic's wishes than when Rung and Ratchet had insisted the same of him.

 

Especially considering Aid was leaning down to kiss him, and he was at a good height to reach his arms up and around to grasp the red and white's aft firmly.

 

Aid gasped against his lips and nipped him, smiling, which sent a shiver down the golden mech's backstruts.

 

Strong arms lifted him from the chair and set him gently on the berth. He followed the perfectly formed lip-plates as they drew reluctantly away, freeing up for a moment to talk. “You... want the same as last time or... to try something different?”

 

Sunstreaker rumbled a deep purr and gave him a wicked grin, optics smouldering a deep, bright indigo. “As my personal physician, what would you recommend?”

 

Aid grinned, still hidden optics brightening the glass band. “Mmmm I think a solid dose of valve therapy applied to your spike should do the trick.” he giggled breathlessly, making Sunstreaker laugh. A genuine laugh that felt both foreign and relaxing.

 

“You're a dork, and I think that sounds like my kind of treatment. Do I fill that prescription with any bot in particular or?...”

He snickered at Aid's pout and nipped his bottom lip, making the medic rev.

 

“I shall administer the treatment, if you don't mind.” He humphed, going straight back to kissing him enthusiastically, moving Sunstreaker to lie on the berth, straddling his hips and grinding their panels together.

 

The golden mech ground back, eager and having a hard time trying not to just rush the whole experience. Aid seemed to be having the same problems though, since he made a small noise of surprise as one of the frontliner's servos squeezing a wheel had his panel snicking open.

 

Sunstreaker grinned wickedly, other servo immediately sliding around the red aft and down between his legs to tease Aid's valve from behind. The medic gasped and mewled, chest pressing down against the roof of the golden alt mode, aft raising into the touches and valve clenching on nothing as the rim was traced.

 

Sunstreaker watched those perfect lips part and moan as he pressed a digit into the warm, slick entrance, teasing and withdrawing, spreading the lubricant around a little more before dipping back in, deeper.

 

The noises the young medic made were enough to have Sunstreaker's own panel flying open, spike clicking free to rise and bump into Aid's midriff.

 

The medic, not missing a beat even as the touches to his valve distracted him, slid a servo down between them to grasp Sunstreaker's spike and stroke it slowly, making the front liner grunt and buck slightly.

 

In answer to this, Sunstreaker plunged two fingers deep into Aid's valve and pumped, making the red and white mech squeal. There was another click, and the golden mech felt another spike bump against his.

 

He bucked eagerly, and without a word, the medic lowered his hips, taking both spikes in his servo and stroking them together.

 

They both gave a low moan and shivered as Aid rocked his spike against Sunstreakers, their ridges sliding and catching in delicious ways as the skilled red servo squeezed and stroked them.

 

Neither could take much of this, and still without saying a word, when Sunstreaker removed his digits from the valve, First Aid released their spikes and pulled himself up.

 

Sunstreaker grasped and ran his servos over red thighs as First aid lined up and slowly sank down on the frontliner's spike, both of them making sounds of pleasure.

The golden mech's thick girth spread First Aid open deliciously, the hot valve walls clenching and releasing as he sank down to the hilt.

 

Both made strangled moans as the tip of the spike pressed right up against the roof of the valve, and Aid rocked, adjusting before beginning a hard pace.

 

“Nnnngh damn, you like it a bit harder, huh?” Sunstreaker rumbled, bucking up whenever Aid dropped down on him. Aid made a garbled moan and nodded, visor dim as he concentrated on the feeling.

 

Sunstreaker let the ecstasy roll through him, engine purring, and reached out a servo to stroke the other bot's spike in time with his thrusts, watching those perfect lips part, tremble, pucker into rounded shapes around his moans and bite at themselves as the medic rode him hard.

 

Aid leant forward, steadying himself on Sunstreaker's lower chestplates and picking up speed, and volume. “Oh frag... Sun, I'm... Aahn!”

 

Sunstreaker made a strangled groan of pure desire as First Aid overloaded. He tightened his grip on the red thighs, holding the medic down against him as he bucked up hard and was tipped into his own overload by the cry of pure pleasure Aid let out as his ceiling node was pounded and valve flooded with hot transfluid.

 

The medic's own transfluid spattered across Sunstreaker's chest and midriff, reaching as far as his chin, but he didn't really care about the mess. He was too caught up in the sight, sound and feel of the bot atop him.

 

He wanted to keep that moment. The lines of his body as he arched and trembled. The dim shine and glow of the white and red paint in the low light, the bright intensity of the visor, the euphoria... slag, even the arc of his transfluid as it burst from his spike, he wanted to capture it all, paint it ALL.

 

He relaxed his grip on the thighs as their overload petered out, sliding them up and along the medic's sides as Aid puffed through his vents and leant slowly forward to sprawl on his chest.

 

“Mmmmmmmthawazgooooooooood” was murmured somewhere against his shoulder. Sunstreaker purred his engine and continued sliding his servos over hot, ticking plating as it cooled, mapping the other bot's angles and planes. He was a little pre-occupied by the urge to paint. He hadn't had one like that in... not since before the war.

 

Even though he was caught up in the fact he'd even had the urge, the other half of him was fixating on First Aid and his current surroundings.

 

Aid seemed to realise through his haze of afterglow that he was being intensely studied, and turned his visor to meet Sunstreaker’s optics. “Something wrong?”

 

“Hmm?... Uh, no… no, nothing… just… yeah, nah, nothing. You’re just… interesting. Really interesting.” Sunstreaker mumbled. Yes, way to go you handsome reject, you are the master of post-overload conversation.

 

He cringed internally at his own awkwardness, but the medic didn’t seem to mind, just giving him a silly looking grin and patting his chestplates with a red servo.

 

“You’re interesting too. Guess we should get down to the whole ‘getting to know you’ part now huh?”

 

Sunstreaker gave First Aid a crooked sort of grin and relaxed. He’d been worried his mouth would frag the whole thing up before it even got started. Unless of course he put it to use on Aid’s valve the first chance he got. He knew for a fact bots were loathe to discard him out of hand in a relationship once they knew what his glossa could do.

 

The thought put a wicked smile on his face once more. “You sure you wanna talk yet? Cause I’m thinking we could go another one or two overloads before we entrench ourselves in conversation. Plus what I have planned makes talking difficult.”

 

The kind blue visor brightened considerably in interest. “Ooooh? And what is it you’re thinking of that makes conversation so hard?”

 

“I promise it’ll make you hard too, don’t worry.” Sunstreaker snickered, earning himself a snort through the medic’s vents.

 

“Oooo can I expect more terrible puns from you?”

 

“Sexual ones? Yes. All the time. There is never a moment that cannot be improved by innuendo.”

 

“Oh Primus, tell me you aren’t a lecherous version of Swerve.” Aid made a mock horrified face.

 

Sunstreaker made one right back at him and threw in some indignance. “No because my puns are actually funny. And it’s impossible to match Swerve’s level of bad punning, Perceptor probably has a percentile of humour negativity reserved especially to quantify how stupid Swerve’s jokes are.”

 

Aid thunked his forehelm on Sunstreaker’s chestplates and tried to stop himself giggling. “That’s… that’s actually… he DID do that once…”

 

The two of them were overcome with silent giggles that shook their frames until Sunstreaker got his under control and pounced. The pouncing consisted more of a roll, pinning the medic with a purring rev of his engine as he pecked him and slid down his frame.

 

Aid gasped and clawed at the berth slightly when Sunstreaker’s mouth moved over his slick, warm interface equipment. Lips caressed the underside of his half limp spike, and as promised it was soon fully pressurised again.

 

But that was merely from the combination of feather light nibbles and the sheer power of the smouldering look the golden mech shot up at Aid from under the rim of his helm.

 

The red and white bot propped himself up on his elbows to look down his chassis with overbright visor as those silver lip-plates slipped out of sight and he felt them moving against his valve.

 

Aid gave a high pitched, breathy moan, legs falling wide open as his exterior sensory nodes where lit up by the press of hot, pliable metal.

 

He shivered, charge ratcheting up high at an amazing pace as the frontliner’s slender nasal ridge nuzzled his spike and a hot, slick glossa teased around the entrance to his valve before plunging into him mercilessly.

 

He was overwhelmed by the sensations… Primus, it wasn’t like this was the first time a bot had done this, but it might as well be! Certainly no one had ever made an art of it as Sunstreaker seemed to.

 

When a servo began to slide slowly and firmly over his spike, teasing the tip as the hot glossa penetrated deeply and swiped broadly across all the right nodes, he was undone.

 

First Aid came with a sharp cry and a buck, and Sunstreaker angled his helm and the spike in his servo so he could watch the medic’s expression, see the arc of silvery fluid and the flare of the blue visor as he felt the valve clench and flutter and the spike pulse with the force of the fluid being ejected.

 

Everything about it was suspended in a sort of slow motion bliss. Just witnessing it was like an overload of his own. First Aid’s visor had locked onto his optics, and there was a moment of intensity where the red and white mech seemed as much transfixed by him as he was by the medic.

 

It was all over within astroseconds, and he pulled back with a few parting strokes to Aid’s spike as their gaze broke and the air was filled with the buzz of cooling fans and ozone.

* * *

 

 

Aid had repaid Sunstreaker in kind with his own oral performance, and the golden bot had enjoyed the sight of the medic’s lips around his spike way more than he’d anticipated. But they didn’t end up repeating the moment they’d experienced in the throes of their previous climax, and they didn’t talk about it directly.

 

Once they were both spent with their interfacing, they lounged on their sides with cubes of energon to replenish them, letting their systems wind down into a pleasant hum.

 

Aid was the first to speak after a small, easy silence. “Mmmmmm so… now comes the hard part-”

 

“Thought you’d already had my hard part, AND it came.” Sunstreaker grinned.

 

Aid just looked at him with a slightly open mouth before slowly depositing his face in his palm. “I walked right into that one didn’t I.”

 

“Hey, if you can line them up, I’ll knock them down.” He snickered softly, sipping from his cube.

 

Aid shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the tiny smile. “I’ll be mindful to watch what I say around you. May take me a while, but I’ll learn your tricks, and then you’ll have nothing on me.”

 

“You learn my tricks and you’ll have me all over you.” He quipped slyly.

 

“I already have you all over me?” Aid gestured to the spatters of transfluid with a barely contained snort.

 

“Ahaaa touché. There is hope for you yet.” Sunstreaker chuckled, raising his cube to the other bot in a toast before taking a large gulp, engine purring in contentment. “So… I don’t know about you but I’m dodging actual small talk because I’m slag at it and I put my pede in my mouth on a regular basis. Just thought I better get that out there early.”

 

“That’s OK, I know. I mean… I’m not good at small talk either… not the pede-in-mouth thing. I mean I’ve done it before, but it doesn’t tend to be a habit.” Aid fiddled with his cube as he talked.

 

“Well slag, if neither of us can do small talk worth a damn, what are we going to talk about?” Sunstreaker sighed dramatically.

 

“I don’t know, what are we talking about now?” Aid countered sweetly with a cheeky little grin.

 

“Uuuh… how bad we are… at talking?” Sunstreaker gave a shrug, amused but somewhat awkward.

 

“Hmmmmm… well, what do other bots do?... Usually they just pick a subject and run with it, right? We can do that. Could be cliché, but we could do it.” Aid suggested with his own shrug and a kind, hopeful look.

 

“Er, yes. Yes we can. No idea what subject though… I guess…” Sunstreaker tapped his digits to his helm where they held his head up, thinking. “Oh… I was wondering before… I didn’t say anything because, y’know, pre-occupied with banging and stuff… about your face, and the light sensitivity. How do you use the sensors if you have to keep that faceplate on in bright light? I mean, isn’t it hard to see what you’re doing if it’s dark enough for you to remove it and use them?”

 

The golden mech had a cautious edge to his tone, hoping Aid didn’t take offence at him asking.

 

The medic seemed completely unfazed by the question, which was a relief. “Oh they work through it just fine. I’m actually better at surgery in dim lighting than bright, it’s a field medic thing. I mean having an operating theatre and a medbay is nice, but on the field? Not common.”

 

“Oooooh. Neat. So… what do the sensors DO exactly?” he pressed on curiously.

 

“Well, an assortment of things. I can smell when a bot has a leak, even a very small one, and tell exactly what fluids they are losing. I can also tell what fluids they are low on even if they aren’t leaking. There are surface heat readers that tell me the thermal patterns on any bot’s body, so I can tell if and where overheating is occurring or cooling or whatever. And there’s sensors for ambient energy and audio feedback, so I can read spark pulses and hear upset components.”

 

Sunstreaker stared at the other bot with his mouth slightly open. “Oh… wow… you do all that with your face? Seriously? That’s… no wonder you get sensory overload without the mask and visor.”

 

Aid gave him a sheepish sort of smile. “Yeah. Truth be told… I’m terrible at hiding how I feel too, so it’s good cause a patient can’t tell if I’m worried or not and they’re calm even if I’m not.”

 

“Not sure how to feel about that one” Sunstreaker snickered, sipping from his cube and racking his processors for somewhere to take the conversation, so that the silence didn’t stretch into something awkward. He was thankful when another question came to him fairly easily.

 

“What do you usually do in your free time? Considering that’s when we’re likely to hang out, that’s probably going to factor into us hanging out more. If you want to, that is.”

 

Aid gave him another sheepish look. “Well, for starters, I think we’re probably going to end up spending a fair amount of free time ‘facing. I haven’t had all that many partners but for what it’s worth… you’re pretty damn GOOD at that, don’t know how much I’ll be able to restrain myself.”

 

Sunstreaker gave him a knowing smile, trying to hide the shadowed look behind it. “I know. And I think we can come to some arrangement. Something along the lines of slag yes, anytime you want. You’re pretty damn good yourself y’know. And I HAVE had a lot of partners. Berth partners that is.”

 

The medic gave him a flustered, incomprehensible babble as response to that and hid his face behind his cube, drinking. When he emerged, he had a silly, pleased-with-himself grin on his face. “Well I AM a medic, you’d hope I didn’t ruin the reputation.”

 

“OOOOH trust me, you don’t. But yeah, aside from clanking each other’s skidplates off, what do you plan to do with your free time?” Sunstreaker finished his cube and rolled onto his back to get more comfortable.

 

“Well… read, mostly. And… um… write… some stuff? Mostly I read though. Or I go to movie night, movie night is fun! Uh, if you can stand Swerve for long periods of time that is.”

 

“Although it is a special kind of torture to do so, I can. What do you read, medical journals, history stuff, science stuff? And let me guess… you’re dodgy about talking about your writing because its porn, isn’t it.” He gave him a mild, knowing smirk.

 

“NO!... Not all of it… its fanfiction, ok. I do read medical and science journals, and occasionally historical novels, but… and don’t laugh at me for this, but I’m really into wreckers declassified.” He seemed to unconsciously pull in on himself as he spoke.

 

“The one by that Fisitron guy? I read that for a while, why would I laugh at you for that? It’s not bad. Super sensationalist, and obviously written by a non-frontline bot, but still pretty entertaining.” Sunstreaker looked over at the other bot, checking he wasn’t saying something wrong. “I never got into it very seriously, I just read whatever issues I had access to when I didn’t have anything to do.” He watched as First Aid deflated from his ball of ‘please don’t mock what I love’ the whole time he spoke.

 

“Really?... Wow, I never would have picked you as a reader, I mean, I know a lot of it gets exaggerated… I’ve seen their medical files for one thing, I know there’s several heroic acts written in that never took place because the bot doing them was either immobile or knocked out cold. But still, it GRABS you, y’know? I like that it’s a bit surreal. Who wants to spend their free time on the reality of war when their job IS the reality of war?”

 

Sunstreaker nodded. “That’s kinda why I never got into it a whole lot. As a medic I guess you haven’t really done a whole lot of small-team missions yeah? A lot of what I read… I guess it was too close. I didn’t want to read about them doing stuff I was doing too. Just reminded me of it.”

 

Aid gave a murmur of understanding, giving him a curious look, as if wondering whether to voice the question he had or not. “Weren’t… I mean… Did you ever apply?... For the Wreckers?”

 

“Yeah, course I did. Me and Sideswipe both. We were disqualified as candidates though. Our psychological profiles were apparently incompatible. That and, y’know, we were always kinda butting helms. Too competitive with each other. I re-applied when I was stationed on… I reapplied as just me, but they said they couldn’t take one half of a whole. It was both of us or neither of us. So yeah, no wreckers for me. Honestly not particularly disappointed… not considering the kinds of stuff I read happening in the declassifieds.”

 

Aid listened intently, realising that Sunstreaker was opening up to him with details it was unlikely he’d ever volunteered to anyone else. He considered the openness a precious allowance from Sunstreaker, and didn’t push for more than he was given.

 

“So, I guess I have to ask then… Springer or Impactor?”

 

Sunstreaker shared a brief look with him that spoke of just how wary he’d been of divulging what he had, and there was clear relief that the medic wasn’t prodding for details. “Impactor all the way.”

 

The red and white bot made a surprised sound. “Really? Impactor? Even after what he did? You know what he did, right?”

 

Sunstreaker looked away, fiddling with his empty cube. “Yeah, I know. It’s not that I think he’s a great bot, I mean he’s a great fighter, and he was a great leader… but it’s more a case of I just don’t like Springer that much.”

 

“What, why?” He tilted his helm, genuinely curious and honestly a little disappointed that the bot he was so interested in didn’t like his former crush.

 

“He’s too much like Prowl” Sunstreaker shrugged.

 

“WHAT? Ahaha, ooooh boy don’t ever let him HEAR you say that! He HATES Prowl. I mean lots of bots do, but he ESPECIALLY hates Prowl. Why do you think he’s like him?” the blue visor was alive with curiosity now.

 

The golden mech met his gaze again with thoughtful, slightly mischievous optics. “He’s so strict, and military. And then he goes on his gung-ho sprees, but he’s always ready to pull rank and get all ‘hierarchy and respect’ at you, he ticks me off. His whole demeanour ticks me off. He’s kind of a prick. Like Prowl. Except Prowl is less ‘kind-of’ and more ‘a total’.”

 

“Uh… well… I do see your point there.” Aid conceded. Much as he had admired the concept of Springer, and the caricature of him portrayed in the declassifieds… the real deal had screwed him over pretty royally, and he was still sore about it.

 

He’d literally taken a bullet to the career, been turned into a laughing stock for the sake a secret mission, and Springer could have stepped in and fixed it so he never got demoted from medic to nurse. But he hadn’t. He’d used him, and yeah… yeah Sunstreaker was right. He kind of was a prick.

 

“…What if I told you the fanfiction I wrote was based on the wreckers declassifieds, and that some of it was smutty and most of it involved Springer?”

 

Sunstreaker’s optics lit up with a devilish sort of glee that hadn’t been present since his initial vorns in the Autobots. “I’d say sharing is caring.”

 

“Good, because I also happen to know first-hand what kind of a lay he is and let me tell you, he did not live up to my imagination.”

 

“Oh, see, now you gotta read it out to me, I want to hear it in the voice intended by the author. No skimping on sound effects.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus tries to do the right thing, Sunstreaker gets confronted by an unexpected trigger he could really do without, First Aid discovers a kink he never thought he'd have, and Bob gets some really, REALLY good pets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out way longer than I intended. Which is fine, but y'know, much more time consuming than expected. Took me three days to write.   
> Whatever, there's a mix of ups and downs, and some weird shit you may not be down with near the end, but yeah. You've been warned. Oh so vaguely warned.  
> This chap is sticky as fuck yo.   
> Also, next chapter is going to start reconnecting with canon events, as per issue #6. You may wish to do a little re-reading, but that's not strictly necessary.  
> Anyway, enjoy hopefully.

“Hey, Sunstreaker! Heard you’re getting out today. Feeling good buddy?”

The golden mech looked up as Rodimus strode into the medbay. He was sitting on the edge of a berth while Ratchet took some final scans, the medic’s neutrally grumpy expression taking a slightly grumpier edge at the captain’s entrance.

Sunstreaker however, was more surprised than anything else. He and Rodimus were on good terms, but it wasn’t often they actually spoke, never mind medbay visits.

“Not writhing in pain, so yeah, doing pretty great.” He responded quietly with a wry half smile.

The red and gold bot patted him congenially on the shoulder and grinned. “Excellent! I was wondering if you wanted to take a bit of a walk with me.”

The golden mech shared a curious look with Ratchet in way of getting his ok to leave, the medic nodding. It wasn’t as if Sunstreaker thought he had a choice really, since he couldn’t exactly outrun Rodimus right now, but he wasn’t bothered by the request.

“Keep it to a leisurely pace, no transforming, no running, not even a brisk stroll. His systems are still self-repairing, but essentially he’s cleared for the lightest of duties. Obviously I’d recommend he be off-duty for another few days, but knowing him he’s less likely to cause himself further damage if he’s got some kind of work to occupy him.”

Rodimus chuckled, servo still on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, making the front-liner a little uncomfortable. He generally didn’t tolerate bots touching him for long periods without his explicit consent, but for the flame painted mech, he would make an exception.

“Hand on my spark Ratchet, nothing too vigorous, I swear. Just a wander and a chat. I’ll get him back to… wherever he wants to go, in one piece, on captain’s honour.”

Ratchet gave him a scrutinizing look and nodded. “Fine. Sunstreaker, I want you back here tomorrow, this time, to monitor the progress of your repairs. Also, take another box of these, they should get you through several solar cycles, but try not to overuse them or they’ll become less effective.”

A box of suppressant chips was shoved into the front-liner’s servo, and he quickly subspaced them. “Yeah, thanks, Aid explained the first time he gave me some.”

Ratchet gave a nod of approval at that and shoo’d him away. The golden mech got to his pedes a little gingerly, stretching, and made a whistling noise. “C’mon Bob. Walkies.”

The insecticon, who had been hiding under the bed and snuffling at Rodimus’ pedes, leapt out with bright, excited optics at the mention of the ‘W’ word.

Rodimus chuckled at the bug bot’s exuberance and they wandered out of the medbay with Bob running circles around them. Sunstreaker didn’t speak again until they were a little ways down the corridor.

“So what exactly did you want to talk to me about? Is it about the room I took? Cause no one was gonna use it, it had a dead body in it and an energon stain splattered right across the-“

“Nooonono, not about that… although, really? No one told me there were bodies in there… does anyone else know about that?” Rodimus gave him a slightly unsettled look.

“Yeah, I told Drift. It was a spark-eater victim. There were bits of turbofox too, kept those for Bob to use as chew toys.”

“Oh. Did he offer to clean the aura of the room for you?”

“Yep.”

“What did you say?”

“Might as well do me first ‘cause I have a worse aura”.

Rodimus laughed at that and pat his shoulder again. “Ooooh you’re good value Sunny. Anyway, I don’t care about you taking that room, there’s observation decks all over this ship.” He dropped his servo and used it to scratch Bob, who was rubbing against his leg as he walked giving him that attention seeking look.

They were quiet for a little bit as they wandered past a few bots who pretended they weren’t staring, Rodimus making something of a show of fawning over Bob.

Sunstreaker waited until they seemed a little more alone to press the other bot to continue. “Soooo, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Rodimus straightened and Bob bounded off ahead to snuffle at things. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing, y’know? I know you’ve had a pretty rough time with this crew. I had hoped most bots were above petty grudges and knew better, but unfortunately it looks like I’ve not been the best judge of character there.”

“Well, I’d say letting Whirl on board was enough proof of that, but considering he’s been more civil than some of the bots I figured to be fairly vanilla, I can’t exactly fault you.” The golden bot murmured.

Rodimus looked like he wasn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment or an insult, but he quickly dismissed whatever slight he may have suffered to settle into friendly congeniality again.

“Yeah… he told me he was the one who found you. Anyway, I just wanted to say… I mean, you and me, we have history. If anyone on this ship starts getting on your back, you know you can always come to me, right? Or Drift, if I happen to be out on some kind of daring adventure, you know what I’m like.”

Sunstreaker gave a half-sparked laugh when Rodimus chuckled at his own self-aggrandisement.

“Thanks Rodimus-“

“You can call my Roddy if you want.”

“Uh… thanks, Roddy. It… I mean, it’s good to have someone’s support. I think I’ll be alright for the moment though. Keep my head down. Try to keep out of Swerve’s a bit more. It’s not like I don’t get it, y’know. Bots still being angry.” He murmured.

Rodimus’ expression got much more serious. “Hey, no, listen, you don’t have to take their agro. You’ve done your time, y’know? I know that. This is not a ship where creative communal punishment flies. That is not happening on my watch. Don’t go and… and HIDE just because they’ve attacked you. Don’t let bots force you out of being an involved crew member just because they have a grudge.”

The two of them had stopped in a corridor, Sunstreaker’s brow ridges knitting slightly.

“Rodimus-“

“Call me Roddy-“

“RODIMUS. Let’s be real here. I caused several of their friends to die. You don’t just get over that. Look, I don’t WANT to cause trouble, I know you guys get what happened… but you were there, you saw… stuff. More stuff than you told ME you saw. You know exactly where I was… the factors effecting me, what made me ask you to…”

He took a deep ventilation and gathered himself. He hadn’t realised he’d balled his fists up, or that he was shaking slightly, until Bob came up and pressed himself against his leg.

Rodimus just looked on, slightly wary, and waited for the golden mech to gather himself. When Sunstreaker continued, his voice was low, and quiet.

“I don’t expect everyone else to get it, y’know? I’m not about to go around trying to justify what I did. I don’t want to be a slag stirrer, I came on this quest because I figured it was going to be easy for me to keep out of the way. Just quietly tag along, not bothering anyone. So that’s what I’m going to keep trying to do.”

A look passed over Rodimus’ face for a moment as if he had no idea how Sunstreaker could stand the idea of keeping a low profile, but it passed quickly to be replaced with something more like respect.

“Alright. But like I said, y’know… anyone gives you slag, get onto me or Drift. And uh… exactly… how… much, do you know I know? What were you talking about before with the… y’know…”

“Corrupted memories resurfaced. When that acid got in my spark casing-“

“ACID got into your SPARK CASING?... And Ratchet’s already let you out of medbay?”

Sunstreaker was temporarily stunned by how aghast Rodimus sounded. He blinked and tried to pick his train of thought back up.

“Um… yes?... That’s why I’m only allowed to wander around at a freight hauler’s pace. Anyway… when that happened, it jogged up some corrupted memory files. I remember you finding me.”

Rodimus’ shocked look, which had been dulling back down, came back full force.

“Ah… um… yeah… listen… I didn’t tell you ‘cause I thought-“

“I don’t care why you didn’t tell me. I wanted to… apologise. I mean, I know I was out of my mind at the time, but it still can’t have been… I mean, it would have been confronting. What I asked you to do.” He murmured quietly.

Rodimus refreshed his optics, taking a moment to actually get his thoughts in order to respond to that.

“Sunstreaker… you know, you don’t have to apologize for that. At ALL. I mean… I got why you asked. I probably uh… actually I have no idea if I would have done the same thing in your position, but it doesn’t matter. Don’t apologise for that. I know at the time your head was in a weird place- OOOOKAY bad choice of words, sorry, sorry!”

Sunstreaker had shot him a glare, thinking he was trying to be funny, making head jokes. Just as well it had been a slip of the glossa, or he may have had a slip of the fist to the captain’s face.

Rodimus had thrown his hands up, both placatingly and as a pre-defence. Sunstreaker HAD looked about ready to clock him one. Considering how long ago the events had happened, he figured this raw of a reaction was probably not a good sign.

“So uuuh… how’s the sessions with Rung going?” he asked as conversationally as possible as they began walking again. He was letting Sunstreaker steer them, since he still didn’t know where the golden mech was actually headed.

Sunstreaker shrugged. “Okay, I guess. He seems to think it’s making a difference. I’m not really seeing it, but I’m not the psychotherapist. Not sure his latest advice is of any use. Basically it amounted to ‘hey, there’s a thing that you do, keep doing that thing and see if it helps’. Obviously can’t help that much, or it would have already.”

“Dare I ask what the thing is?” the flame painted mech asked tentatively. Primus, he felt like he was talking to a bomb, he was starting to remember why he usually tolerated Sunstreaker more than actually liked him. He was fine when he was in a good mood, but in the wrong mood, he was hard work.

The golden mech just sighed. “Painting. He thinks painting will help me. Like some kind of release.”

“Oh, you mean the stuff in your room?”

Uh-oh… they’d stopped again and the golden mech’s piercing gaze was pinning him once more. He didn’t even need to ask, the silent command to explain ‘how do you know about that and how have you seen that’ hung palpably in the air.

Rodimus’ placating servos came up again, ready to block attack if need be. “Whoa, Sunny, hey, not judging! I’m cool with you painting on the walls, probably improves the ship’s value… Whirl told me about it. I haven’t seen it.”

The wrath of the golden terror twin was once again successfully diverted, and Sunstreaker carried on down the corridor with a scowl and a rumble of his engine, which drew an inquisitive look from Bob.

“That slagger better not be running around talking about it, or I’ll have to go and have a TALK with him about the concept of privacy, and how respecting it means he gets to keep his knees facing the right way.”

“I honestly don’t think he’s talked to anyone about it but me and Drift. I mean, I’m the captain, he tends to come to me a lot with stuff like that. I think maybe he thinks he’s my official… informant, or something. He does seem to think he holds a rank.” He shrugged. “Anyway, so, Rung thinks painting will help… but you already paint and it hasn’t. Did he have any other ideas?”

“Not really. I guess we’ll figure something out.” Sunstreaker sighed, running a servo over her face, looking weary.

They were quiet for a little bit as they passed through a busier part of the ship, bots staring or pointedly not looking at them, depending on who was or wasn’t indifferent to the golden bot. As soon as they were alone again, Rodimus picked up the conversation.

“So, you recharging OK these days or still, y’know… waking up and stuff?” he murmured, unsure if the question was going to hit a nerve. He was only asking out of concern, since he knew first-hand how much trouble the bot had had with his memory purges in the past. Enough trouble that he’d been clocked in the jaw trying to wake him up at one time.

“Better, actually. Thanks to suppressor chips Rung prescribed. Can’t use them too much, but even one or two solid recharges an orn makes a difference. Proper rations don’t hurt either.” He murmured the last bit as more of an aside, but the captain caught it anyway and rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Didn’t even realise Magnus was being so… UNFAIR to you, it’s so unlike him. I mean, not the whole dealing out his own brand of overdone justice thing… more the vindictive… thing.” He wasn’t sure how to word that without making himself wince.

He didn’t like to think of the dark side of Magnus. He depended on him being the reasonable one, and that expectation was thrown into doubt by Magnus showing bias the way he had.

He supposed he could chalk it up to exceptional circumstances, since Sunstreaker’s misdemeanour was fairly serious in the larger scale of the war, but still… the seed of doubt as to Magnus’ ability to be impartial had been sewn.

“So… where are we on the whole quest thing? I’ve kinda fallen out of the loop being stuck in an ISO room.” Sunstreaker asked as he tried to coax Bob away from thoroughly investigating Siren’s aft as he walked by in the other direction, oblivious.

He loved Bob, but sometimes the bug could be impossibly embarrassing.

“Oh, the quest, the quest is great! Going just swimmingly. Yeah, I mean, we’re uh, we’re really making some progress-“

“We’re drifting through space waiting for a clue then?” Sunstreaker gave him a small smirk and watched as his spoiler winglets drooped and the famous Rodimus pout surfaced.

“ _No…_ well… sort of, maybe… look, we have a definitive direction, it’s just that we aren’t entirely sure what we’re going to find when we get there, and we haven’t been able to glean anything from local communications or planetary systems. But we have a good idea of where New Crystal City is supposed to be, and that’s where we’re going, to find Drift’s buddies and get them to help us find the knights.”

Sunstreaker nodded, looking somewhat unconvinced. “Do we have any guarantee that they’ll help us, or just Drift’s word? Not to say I don’t trust him. Hell, I’m sure his approval ratings have skyrocketed compared to mine, but he’s not in contact with these guys, and he’s the only bot who knows them, how can we be sure they’ll help?”

“Well, look at it this way- hi Bob, yeeees yes, I know the drill. That hit the spot buddy? Huh? Yeeeeah you love that huh? Big adorable dork… anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, look at it this way. They took Drift on when he was a Decepticon and managed to reform him and gave him a new frame and a sword and everything. Why WOULDN’T they help us? We’re not Decepticons, and we’re doing a good thing for all of Cybertron. They’d have to be massive aftholes NOT to help us.”

Sunstreaker conceded at that. “Some very solid points. So, the biggest problem then is finding them, or more to the point, hoping they’re where Drift left them?”

“More or less, yeah. When he left, apparently they’d exposed themselves to the local galaxy, so he thinks they probably had to go into defensive mode to ward off the slave traders and poachers trying to get at their tech and population. But according to him, they had more than enough power to look after themselves."

They stopped by a set of double doors, Sunstreaker whistling Bob over from sniffing at a passing Highbrow’s servos. “Well, this is my stop.”

Rodimus looked at the doors and gave him a quizzical look. “The firing range? Why here?”

Sunstreaker pulled a leash out of subspace and went about attaching it to Bob’s collar anchor. “Why not? I have no idea how effective painting is going to be in the long run, but shooting things on a range always made me feel better. Old school self-therapy. Just gotta make sure Bob’s tied up properly so he doesn’t wander onto the range.”

Rodimus gave him a look of understanding and pat him on the shoulder again. “Good point. Very good point. And hey, if you manage to score higher than my last session in there? I’ll shout you some new paints at the next planetary stop-over.”

Sunstreaker gave him one of his old, and now very rare, cocky grins. “Hope you got the shanix, cause good paint is expensive you know.”

 

* * *

 

 

New paints were a wonderful thing. He’d made sure to pick out the most expensive he could get, and all very specific colours.

He was honestly surprised Rodimus had held up his end of the challenge, but to be fair, he had decimated the captain’s score. As he’d told the incredulous looking flame painted mech as he pat him on the shoulder, he did have a lot more experience and training, so he shouldn’t feel too bad.

After all, he’d been trained by Ironhide from the start when he and Sideswipe had been roped into enforcement by the senate. He’d then been honed later by Kup when the war first began.

Pretty much nothing beat servos-on training with those two. He glanced up from his work to look over at his portrait of Ironhide. He missed him terribly sometimes. But Ironhide had supported him in going on this trip. He said it would be good for him to get back out into the universe at large, get back some perspective, work through all his… stuff.

Well, old red had never been very poetic, but he was always sincere. That was his best quality, the fact that he cared. He’d cared enough to look for him against Prime’s orders, so he’d been told. Cared enough to get himself slagged, but that was in his attempt to aid the humans who were looking for Hunter.

His optics flickered to another figure painted over in a corner. He didn’t know why he’d done it the way he had. It was Hunter. It had physically pained him to paint it, but he’d been half drunk on nightmare fuel at the time, which he was loath to ever do again.

The human was in his headmaster form… and he was suspended, like his own head had been, by cables and chains. His face was stretched in a silent scream, only visible eye wide and terrified.

He looked away, a shiver passing through him from the spark outwards. He hated that human as much as he hated himself. Maybe BECAUSE he hated himself. Maybe he should ask Rung…

Either way, he had no idea if the image was a real memory, or a dream concocted in his bitterness that roped the boy into feeling what he had felt.

After all, Hunter HAD felt what had happened to him… he’d felt EVERYTHING. And he’d felt the human’s paltry, pitiful, parallel sufferance. It galled him that Hunter had ever been pitied by the other Autobots on earth. He was only going to live for like a vorn anyway, what did his brief discomfort matter in the face of the aeons he’d have to spend remembering being torn to pieces and forced to bond to the filthy meatbag.

It made him angry to remember how everyone had been so much more concerned with Hunter’s well-being than his after the separation.

_But that’s not true, is it… not entirely, and you know it._

He hung his helm and rumbled his engine, staring at his paint palette.

_Some of them tried to help you. Ratchet tried to help you. You told them you were fine, you pushed them away._

Another voice from another train of thought he’d had at least a thousand times or more surfaced in his internal monologue.

_They shouldn’t have just taken my word though, not when they knew what had happened, not when Mirage and Jazz had retrieved the footage. Wasn’t it obvious to any of them I wasn’t well? That I pushed them away because I didn’t know how to deal with any of it? They should have sent me to Rung THEN. Before me and my stupid issues went and…_

He shut his entire line of thinking down and forced himself to look back at his work.

His whole demeanour shifted and he felt himself calming already. He’d picked up some metal panels while Rodimus had gotten the paint. He was lucky the little space station even had a supply shop with art appropriate materials. Technically they were for patching and painting ships, but he could work with industrial materials just fine.

He needed panels rather than wall space, because he wasn’t about to paint First-Aid mid overload on the wall. Not when bots like Whirl had occasional reason to burst into his room.

So far he had a vague outline of the scene in his mind on the panel. Large strokes of red and white formed the basic shapes that he still had to define. At this stage it was very impressionistic, and he never liked to add TOO much detail, because it spoiled the raw figurative qualities.

Looking at it made him feel GOOD. So had the target practice, which was what had gotten him in the mood to try and do this picture justice.

Remembering what he was good at and enjoying it seemed to be a very useful form of therapy, and he made a mental note to remind himself of this next time he felt himself slipping into dark corners of his mind.

The lapse in his concentration was soon forgotten as he re-applied himself to his work with vigour.

Digits slid slickly across the metal plate, coated in the oily enamel, reminiscent enough of interface lubricant to get his equipment a little warmer.

He didn’t really focus on that, not interested in even touching himself when he was so engrossed in projecting the images in his mind onto the metal.

Colours swirled and blended in the blue-white-cream of the brightened visor, while shades of white and red contrasted sharply against blocks of black, purple, gold and burgundy.

His own gold was only a hint down the bottom of the frame, a vague shape reflected in the medic’s armour, indicating his role in the scene that could be missed by anyone who didn’t realise that it was a portrait from his point of view.

But that didn’t matter, because this wasn’t for an audience. This was just for the two of them.

He lost track of time, but eventually he stood back, feeling satisfied, not wanting to touch what he’d done in case he did too much. There was a point were more meant less. Less impact, less feeling, less freedom… yes, yes he was done.

And then came the twinge of fear. It wasn’t something he ever remembered feeling before in quite the same context.

_What if he doesn’t like it? What if he tells me to destroy it and breaks things off? Maybe I should wait longer to show him… Yeah… yeah it can’t hurt to leave it a while. It’s gotta dry anyway, that’ll take at least an orn or so._

He cleaned his servos in a bucket of solvent laced water and dried them off before moving the panel over to the wall and hiding it behind a couple of the empty crates the room had held when he found it.

//Sunstreaker?//

He had been staring at the painting a little more, feeling a little aroused again, when his comm had pinged and he’d answered. First Aid’s voice had come through his helm and he’d jumped.

//Oh, hey Aid, what’s up? //

//Nothing much. Just wanted to see if you were up for coming to movie night with me tonight? //

He was brought up short by that question. On the one servo, he wanted to just be around Aid, sure. On the other, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be around all those other bots as well.

At the lack of an answer, Aid continued in what sounded like a slightly embarrassed tone.

//You don’t have to say yes, we can think of something else to do if you don’t want-//

//No no, no I’ll go with you. Was just thinking… do you reckon they’d let me bring Bob? I don’t really want to lock him alone in my room at the moment because I’ve got some stuff I’ve been working on I think he might accidentally destroy if left alone with it. What time? //

//Oh! Great! I don’t think they’ll mind Bob there, he’s so well behaved. Um, it starts at around 22:00, but most of us usually turn up about half a cycle early to chat and decide what we’re watching. Rewind has a MASSIVE database, he comes with a theme and a couple options and we all just kinda vote on what we want//.

//Sounds good. I’ll come meet you after the end of your shift and we’ll go together, yeah? //

On his end of the line, Aid was beaming beneath his mask as he sluiced out the comatose patient’s waste outlets. Ambulon was a little worried by the peppy light to Aid’s visor as he wandered by. No bot found that job enjoyable, he sincerely hoped that Aid was just thinking of something very funny to do with waste pipes.

//Sure thing, see you then//.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hi Aid! And… uh… Sunstreaker?... Can I help you?” Swerve’s beaming grin had turned into a confused sort of half smile.

“He’s here with me for movie night. Bob too, you guys don’t mind yeah?” First Aid said rather sweetly. Boy he knew how to get what he wanted, no one could argue with that voice.

Not that it mattered, because it was Chromedome and Rewind’s room, and Rewind jumped up and down calling Bob’s name, the insecticon lolloping over to snuffle and paw at the tiny bot with his secondary arms, abdomen wiggling all over the place in excitement.

Swerve stood aside looking rather bemused as Aid and Sunstreaker wandered in. Swerve wasn’t the only one to side-eye the golden bot, who immediately felt weird just because so many of the bots in there were so… short.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that really, but it was probably just a case of Rewind keeping company with those who he saw, quite literally, optic-to-optic with. And he couldn’t blame him for that, it was a natural thing for cybertronians to seek company of their own general size-class.

They weren’t a bad crowd either, despite Swerve’s mouth. There were snacks too, he didn’t know there would be snacks. It’d been ages since he’d had energon goodies.

Aid led him over to his usual spot on one of the mesh cushions in front of the berth. He sat on the side away from everyone else, Pipes coming over to sit on Aid’s other side.

He had a glass of mild grade and he poked his visor up to talk to them. “Hey guys! Didn’t expect to see you here ‘Streaker, didn’t peg you for a movie buff.”

“Mmm, Aid invited me. It’s something to do, y’know? I didn’t used to have much time to watch movies-OOP.”

Sunstreaker was interrupted by Bob bouncing over and squirming his way into his lap. He pet him on the helm and noted Pipes’ wide optic’d look at the bug bot.

“He’s uhh… not dangerous, is he?”

“Only if you feed him too many treats, then he’ll violently puke on you, but otherwise he’s pretty harmless unless you attack me.”

“Oh, uh… I’ll make a note not to do that. He’s an insecticon right? I never saw any of those, I mean I heard about the swarm but I didn’t know they made such good pets.” Pipes tentatively reached over and pat Bob’s head by tapping it with the flat of his palm.

Bob sniffed it and scrambled forwards into Aid’s lap to continue sniffing the strange new potential giver of treats and scritches.

Aid laughed and got his fingers under the booster flanges on Bob’s back, scratching and making him turn into a limp, chirring pile of goo.

“As a rule, they don’t. Most of them would shoot paralyser darts into you as soon as you were in range and try to eat you. Bob was… different. He’s smarter, and less cannibalistic. He only ever tried to chew stuff that wasn’t alive.”

“Oh, wow, how’d you find him?” Pipes shifted a little out of the way of Bob’s head as the bot drooled, back leg twitching slightly.

“He… kinda found me, really. Ironhide helped me catch and train him. He’s probably the last insecticon alive after the purge. He’s pretty lucky to have survived, but like I said, as dumb as he looks, he’s a clever little thing.”

“Not so- ooof! Little!” Pipes laughed as Bob wriggled off Aid and onto the new bot’s lap. It was a ruse, because he just wanted to steal some treats from the bowl of snacks Swerve had just put on the floor beside the cobalt mech.

Sunstreaker snorted, putting on his authoritarian voice. “Bob! Heel!”

The bug immediately scuttled off the mech and shuffled to Sunstreaker’s side, sitting and looking up at him for further instruction.

The golden mech just grinned at Pipe’s clapping and reached over to the small table, grabbing some treats and giving one to Bob with a ‘good boy’.

He ate one himself and rumbled. “Primus that tastes good, I’ve been missing out.”

“You’ve never had them before? I’ve been making them since we got on the ship, EVERYONE loves these, how have you not tried them yet? Even BOB’S had them!” Swerve waved his arms emphatically.

Sunstreaker just shrugged. “Don’t usually have access to them, forgot that I could actually get some now if I wanted to.”

“You seem to forget about a lot of stuff that can make you feel good.” Pipes commented innocently.

Sunstreaker ended up glancing at Aid, optics and visor meeting. “Yeah… been getting help remembering them.”

Rewind cleared his vocaliser to get their attention, standing on his berth. “OK you lot, today we’ve got a really neat little selection from a theme called ‘animation’”

“Ooooo I love zombie horror films!” swerve piped up, but Tailgate, who Sunstreaker had completely missed somehow, made a small whining noise.

“I don’t! They’re gross and freaky, and they remind me too much of this planet where-“

“No not RE-animation, ANIMATION. It’s a form of film making where images, drawn or computer generated, are moved frame by frame and then run at speed to create the illusion of actual real life movement. It’s an art form, Cybertron never made much of it, but several organics do, some really prolifically. Your choices are experimental, two dimensional, CG three-dimensional and stop-motion.”

There was a little back and forth, mostly between Swerve, Tailgate and Rewind, and eventually they settled on a musical 3D film.

Sunstreaker didn’t really care what it was, so long as it wasn’t intrusively irritating. He was just there to be with First Aid. The goodies and energon were a bonus. As was being treated civilly.

The servo not petting Bob, who had settled on his back for belly scritches, was flat on the floor. When the lights were turned off and the movie was started, Sunstreaker felt something shift across the back of his unoccupied servo, and glancing down, realised Aid had shifted his own servo against it.

He shared a glance with the medic and their servos slid against one another until they were lightly entwined.

Watching the movie with the small gaggle of bots turned out to be very much like when he and Sideswipe used to watch films together. There was much discussion over elements of the story as it happened. Well, less discussion and more mockery and smart-aft commentary.

Rewind had warned them that the movie they picked had an intended audience of younglings, but Tailgate had been intrigued by the idea of music being so heavily involved in the whole thing.

In fact Tailgate seemed to be enjoying it immensely, because he kept shushing Swerve, who snickered and chowed down on snacks. Something it seemed everyone encouraged because it was the only thing that kept him mostly quiet.

Pipes was mostly confused by the whole thing, and not too keen on the large amount of snow involved. The creatures amused him though.

“What I want to know” Aid piped up quietly, “is how much of this is based on reality, and how much is creative application.”

“What do you mean?” Sunstreaker wasn’t at all confused by the film. It was of earth origin. He’d be bothered by that, except it was so stylised that it wasn’t really making him think of anything beyond its focal characters and the neat graphics. He quite liked the music in parts too.

“Well… do these things, Penguins, is this what they’re actually like? They sing to attract mates and find dancing weird?” Aid watched bemusedly as the main character was rejected by his love interest.

Sunstreaker shook his helm and snickered slightly. “Nah. Penguins are just animals. Not particularly sentient, they waddle around and swim and eat fish, yeah. But the noise that the main guy makes when he tries to sing? That’s the noise they usually make. They don’t sing like this, or dance, that’s all creative license.”

“Oh. What about the whole thing with the males guarding eggs?”

“Yeah that’s true. Survival technique. The males huddle up, keep the egg on their feet and wait out the storms. Pretty hard core for a teeny organism. The females are out catching fish the whole time and come back when the season changes to take over youngling duties while the males go out to refuel.”

“Wow… they’re kind of fascinating! We had a few creatures like that on Delphi, but they were much more hostile, and they don’t live in numbers like these ones. Primus, remind me to tell you later about the time one of them got into the ward and Ambulon flipped his s-“

“SHHHH tell us ALL later Aid, this bit is great!”

Aid shared an amused look with Sunstreaker when Tailgate hushed them, the tiny bot riveted to the action as the penguins danced and sung all over the screen. He was even bopping along and tapping his pedes.

The golden mech let the music wash over him and ended up bobbing his head as well. He really did like the music.

“Ugh, here comes the Ultra Magnus penguin again.” Tailgate huffed when the music was over, making Swerve choke out a laugh and spill the energon he’d been drinking down his front a little.

“Oh frag, nono, wait… if HE’S Magnus… who’s Rodimus?”

“Ramone all the way.” Sunstreaker murmured. The rest of the room heard him and laughed, surprising him.

“Hahaha slag, yes!” Swerve wiped at the energon and beamed. “Hmmm OH, so who’s Mumble?”

Sunstreaker shrugged. “Uuuuh… no idea.”

“Oh, OH, I know! Siren! Cause he really needs to NOT try singing again, EVER.” Pipes chimed in. That received an understanding chuckle from the rest of the room.

They spent the next several minutes vaguely following the story and debating over what members of the crew were most like other characters in the film.

Eventually there was a lively discussion going on about whether the singing could be symbolic of proficiency at doing science, in which case Gloria was Perceptor and Mumble was Brainstorm.

Sunstreaker chowed down on a few more goodies, feeding some to Bob and petting him.

When he looked back at the screen, everyone getting distracted by the loud penguin noises the main character was making, he froze up.

He wasn’t sure what it was. It may have been a combination of things. And as stupid and fluffy as the whole movie was to him, the scene playing struck a chord in his mind that opened up a well of fear response and a need to get OUT.

Later he would go over it in his head, and decide that it was because it was too reminiscent of that room they’d kept his head suspended in, with the observation window, but at the moment the memories triggered, he was staggering to his feet, and before he knew it he was out the door and halfway down the hall, leaning against a wall and heaving air through his vents.

Without the images, or the noise, he managed to snap back to reality and stop himself from transforming and just driving as fast and far as he could.

But flashes of memory still kept running across the surface of his mind. He felt sick. He fought the urge to empty his tanks, and realised after a few seconds that someone was saying his name.

He didn’t turn to face them, he was still trying to get a grip. He jumped slightly and flattened himself against the corridor wall when he felt something touch him.

He came face to face with First Aid, who was looking at him with intense concern. Something was rattling loudly, and he jerked away from the wall when he realised it was his armour shaking against the bulkhead.

“Sunstreaker, It’s OK, deep ventilations-“

“I’m fine… I’m fine, it’s just a stupid cartoon… I just…”

Bob came bounding down the corridor and skidded to a halt at his pedes, pawing at him with secondary servos and making an anxious clicking noise. Rewind had followed him out at a jog, the other bots poking their heads out the door, not really game to follow.

“Primus, Sunstreaker, I am SO sorry, I didn’t even think… I should have let you know there were humans in it-“  
  
Sunstreaker jerked at the very mention of the aliens. “I’m FINE. It’s just a stupid cartoon… I just…”

He twitched when Aid put a servo on his arm gently. “Sunny, DEEP ventilations… it’s OK, it’s normal, it happens. You don’t have to say you’re fine, you’ve just been triggered, it’s common with PTSD.”

The golden mech just looked between them, optics pale and slightly bewildered. “What? No… it’s just a stupid-“

“You should find somewhere quiet to get your mind off it.” Rewind spoke quietly and sincerely. “It’s not stupid, it’s too close. Don’t start feeling bad for something like that setting you off. This happens to Domey sometimes… go with Aid, sit somewhere quiet for a while, find something to distract you.”

Sunstreaker said nothing, vents stuttering slightly as he tried to reconcile the baseless feeling of panic with a solid reason, but he couldn’t find one. In the end, he just let First Aid take a hold of his servo and lead him off.

“You should go back and keep watching. I don’t want you missing out just because I can’t deal with my issues.” He murmured hoarsely as he followed, trying to stop the shaking and failing frustratingly.

Bob was still making worried little clicking noises as he trotted along beside his master.

“I care much less about the movie or socialising than I do about making sure you’re alright.”

“I told you I’m fine, I’ll just… go and make my stupid head shut-up.” He murmured, feeling guilty for ruining the outing.

They ended up at Sunstreaker’s quarters, and he dragged the front-liner in, pressing him to sit on the berth in the dim lighting the engines threw across the ceiling.

When the door shut behind them, he retracted his mask, and Sunstreaker finally saw the truly worried expression on the young medic’s face.

Aid stood in front of him and cupped his face in his servos. “Your head is NOT stupid. The film triggered traumatising memories, PLEASE don’t think it’s your fault, you can’t help what happened to you.”

Preoccupied with the static he was trying to throw up to block the memories, the still baseless fear pulling at his spark, and the creeping feeling of shame from freaking out in front of other bots for what he perceived as no good reason, it didn’t immediately hit him that he was in his own quarters.

When he looked around to automatically assess the threat level of his surroundings, the realisation hit him hard enough to ratchet up his anxiety.

“Why are we HERE?”

Aid gave him an even more concerned look. “It’s good practice to get someone having a panic attack to a familiar and comfortable place. I figured your quarters were best. It is pretty soothing with the big view of space and the afterburners lighting it.”

Sunstreaker made a strangled sound of anxiety and shook his head. “I don’t want to be here… not right now, I don’t want you here, I don’t…” he had locked up again. His fear was back, but now it wasn’t baseless. It was that spark-constricting anxiety that First Aid would turn and see what was on the wall in the shadows, and would not want to come anywhere near him because of it.

Why, WHY did he have to express his mental injuries all over the damn WALL where anyone could see…

Aid was scanning him now, and he couldn’t help but notice the way the front-liner’s optics flickered, near white, to the wall on his left.

Sunstreaker stiffened and offlined his optics when Aid’s head turned. He didn’t want to see his face when he realised what he was looking at.

There was a long moment of silence, the medic’s servos resting numbly on Sunstreaker’s shoulders, visor retracting to expose large, over-bright optics as he scanned the images on the wall in minute detail.

His mouth hung open, vents ceasing as he took in the vastness of information and emotion.

No detail slipped his notice, not even the fact the point of light at the centre was two sparks pressed together rather than one.

_Geminus positive and negative, one on top, one below… forged… if one died, the other could likely survive…_

Aid wasn’t sure why the painting made him think of the twin’s medical files, until he remembered the rift between Sunstreaker and his brother, and he realised the gravity of that in relation to the painting.

Sunstreaker didn’t even try to quell the shaking now. This was it, he knew it. He’d ruined any chance he had. He tried to reason internally that he’d be OK, they hadn’t even gotten serious, they were just friends anyway… none of it seemed to work, because the sensation that a black hole was opening up beneath him to suck him back into the darkness was what kept fuelling the fear pouring from his spark.

He waited for the servos to leave his shoulders, to hear the door shut and the emptiness to move in.

Instead he suddenly found himself embraced.

There were moments of silence that could have stretched into infinity, the only disturbance the stuttering of vents.

The golden mech didn’t know how long he took to online his optics. Didn’t pay his chronometer any attention as he slowly stopped shaking and tentatively reached his own arms up to loop around the other bot’s middle.

Eventually First Aid was the one to break the silence.

“It’s going to be OK Sun. I promise you it’s going to be OK.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Uuuuuh… so what was all THAT about?” Swerve asked Rewind as he wandered back into his quarters with a sigh.

“Panic attack. My fault… forgot to mention there were humans in this movie.”

Tailgate raised his servo. “Question, are humans the aliens the penguins were talking about? Oh, and are they actually aliens?”

Rewind grabbed some cloths from a drawer and went about mopping up the energon Sunstreaker had spilled as he staggered out of the room. He didn’t think the bot had even realised he’d knocked anything over.

“Humans are actual aliens to us, but not to penguins, they’re both from the same planet, which is Earth.” He explained, tossing the wet cloths in the cleaning unit.

“Soooo, why is Sunstreaker scared of them?” Pipes asked curiously as he gathered up the goodies he’d knocked over in surprise.

Rewind’s body language became a little cagey. “He’s not had good experiences with them.”

Swerve barked a laugh. “HA! That’s an understatement! I heard they took control of his body and made him do their dirty work. They probably made him drive through the mud, that’s why he’s so traumatised. I mean, TOTALLY justifies him turning on his fellow Autobots-”

“Shut up Swerve.” Rewind snapped rather harshly.

“He what? Turned on other Autobots?... Did he really? But he seemed so nice.” Tailgate sounded shocked.

Rewind huffed out his vents, sitting on his berth. “That’s not exactly how it happened. Tailgate, that abbreviated history of the war I showed you? At 10.24601 seconds in, I briefly covered the point where the Autobot forces fell, universally, against Decepticon attacks. Everyone thinks that was ALL Sunstreaker’s fault.”

Tailgate took a moment to try and review the compressed data he’d been given to find that particular point, meanwhile, Swerve was scoffing.

“It WAS his fault! He’s the guy that sold out to Starscream! He got Prime half killed! Lost us the Matrix! I saw a lot of friends die on Kimia because of him-“

“No you didn’t. You lost them because of the Decepticons, but not because of Sunstreaker.” Rewind countered with a scowling edge to his visor.

Pipes pushed up the visor that had fallen down again and frowned slightly. “Why are you defending him Rewind? I mean he’s not nearly as angry as I thought, and I was nice to him because, frankly, I’m a little scared of him anyway… but I know what he did too. We all do, he confessed. Do you know something we don’t?”

“I know a lot of things you don’t. But more importantly, I have every piece of information surrounding the incidents on earth. I know exactly why he went to Starscream. I know he was played into being the scapegoat. And I know what the humans did to make him vulnerable to Starscream’s influence in the first place. And, MOST importantly, I know that he never gave out any of the codes the Cons used to bypass our security measures in the big assault. Those were taken from him… well, part of him… by force.”

The other bots in the room just stared at Rewind for a few moments before Swerve sat down and grabbed up his bowl of goodies again. “Well GO ON then! Story time! The FACTS, as presented by Rewind, the archivist! Hey don’t gimmie that look, you said you knew all this stuff, and I feel a really good story coming on, you HAVE to spill now.”

The others looked at Swerve, then Rewind, then also sat down facing him.

Rewind growled in frustration and rubbed at the centre of his helm. “I can only tell you so much, there’s a lot of classified data. Look… I don’t know if I feel comfortable explaining everything the humans did to Sunstreaker, not without his permission, and I’m NOT asking him that NOW Swerve.” He emphasized his point when the red and white bot opened his mouth.

“So… is there NOTHING you can show us? Not even just a picture or two of the humans or what they did? Or just tell us what kind of evidence you have of what they did? I mean, I never thought he’d go to a Con like Starscream without a decently hefty reason. He and his brother, from what I knew, absolutely LOATH seekers.” Pipes wheedled.

Rewind made a considering hum. “I have copies of the video feed from the place where the humans held Sunstreaker. They all have audio. I have the readouts from their equipment, all the details of their experiments, information on the bot behind that whole operation. And most bots don’t either know, or conveniently forget, that it was a Decepticon called Scorponok operating rogue that was driving the whole thing.”

Swerve grinned. “See! This is the juicy dirt, the seldom known backstory, this is what I wanna hear-“

“Oh! I found it, here it is… oh… OH wow… ooooh so many bots died.” Tailgate’s visor widened and paled. “This… this all happened because of Sunstreaker?”

“No, I already established that. He was a pawn in the big Decepticon play, but he was something they really needed. Him and Hunter, the human that bonded to him.” The archivist explained wearily, propping his head up on a servo, elbow resting on his knee.

“Oooh… so, getting back to the movie, I still don’t really get the whole thing about why they scared him? They don’t look very scary.” Tailgate gave him one of his doe-eyed looks of confusion.

Rewind had an internal debate, his urge to help the golden mech restore his reputation winning out over the risks he took revealing classified records to mechs without clearance… especially Swerve.

“Look… normally, I’d agree with you, but our history with them dictates otherwise. They aren’t all bad, not that I personally met any, but the ones that took Sunstreaker?... I really, REALLY shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to show you a little of the footage from the place they held him. I suggest you not be eating or drinking, and if you have a weak tank, the trash bin is right there, please don’t miss.”

The other three shared wide optic’d looks and turned to face the projection wall. Rewind did a quick edit in his streaming queue, projecting stills first. “When they took him, it was a switch operation. THIS was a decoy car, to make the rest of the Autobots think he’d been killed. So they wouldn’t go looking for him.” He explained as he showed images of the burning shell of a car that looked very much like Sunstreaker’s alt mode.

He then flashed up an image from security cameras inside the headmaster facility of a live, unconscious Sunstreaker being wheeled into a large room.

The next image was of an alive, immobilised Sunstreaker, and he looked mad. Humans were everywhere, prepping equipment.

“This next bit is going to set you on edge. I’ve turned the audio down low, but it’s still confronting. This is footage from the cameras recording the dissection procedure.”

“Dissection procedure?” Pipes blurted out, visor falling in front of his optics again when the video started to play.

Even muted, the screams were enough to set armour on edge.

After a few seconds, in which humans loudly complained about the screaming, Rewind paused the film. “As you just heard, they didn’t consider him alive. They didn’t bother to shut off his neural circuitry. Actually, they continuously stimulated it as they jacked and hacked, to get more scientific data.”

Pipes staggered over to the waste receptacle and purged his tanks with a whine.

Rewind, feeling somewhat reckless, and deciding if the cobalt mech was the one with the weak tank, he might as well continue while he was already hovering over the bin.

“Here’s what they ended up reducing him to. This… this is probably why he freaked out.” He murmured quietly, flashing a few images of Sunstreaker’s head suspended in a room with a glass wall, scientists peering at him through it. He shut off his projector after that while Pipes dry-heaved.

“That’s only half of it, really. But basically, Starscream knew about all this. He used it, knew Sunny would hate the humans. I mean, Prowl, monumentally stupid afthole that he is, decided Sunstreaker should remain on earth after he went through all that.”

And though he didn’t say it, Rewind was much more inclined to blame Prowl for most of the horrible things that had happened during the war.

“What? You mean he made him stay on the Human’s planet after THAT?” Tailgate was aghast. He’d heard people mention Prowl, and they were always talking about him in a negative way… but now he was actually getting a full scale understanding of why.

Rewind nodded, visor a hard blue. “Like I said, I wasn’t there. But I have Ark footage that says a lot about the state of mind he was in at the time. And really, his taking up Starscream’s offer was an act of desperation by a bot who just wanted out. From what Ironhide recounted after Sunstreaker confessed to him, Sunstreaker thought he was entering into a plan to ambush Megatron. He was supposed to get the Autobots in position to jump big M, and once they were done, they would leave, and Starscream would take over the Decepticons like he always wanted. And, quite conveniently, earth was supposed to be left to the Cons. This was the deal maker to Sunstreaker. The Autobots would win, and the Decepticons would stay on earth and wipe out all the humans.”

The other three were quiet, Pipes shakily moving to flop down on the floor beside Swerve.

True to his nature though, Swerve was quickly filling the silence again.

“So how did the Cons get the access codes, if Sunny only fell for a trap to get the Earth team ambushed?”

“Well, that’s where the human that got bonded to him comes in. Ratchet separated them, they both lived and went their separate ways, but no one thought the kid would be a target. I don’t think anyone realised he was a conduit into our databases. The decepticons went after him, they got him, and they used him until he was beyond saving. Wasn’t until after the Autobots reclaimed ground on Earth with Omega Supreme that anyone found that out. By then… well, by then Sunstreaker had already tried to kill himself to stop the insecticon hoard from eating everyone alive. Everyone assumed him dead.”

“Oh… he… he talked about… I mean, I asked him how he got that pet of his, Bob. I didn’t realise he’d actually nearly died fighting them. So, how come Bob doesn’t trigger bad memories when humans do?” Pipes asked, sounding very confused.

“Don’t know. Not going to ask him, that’s a bit more personal than I think I’m entitled to, and speaking of which, not a WORD that I showed you any of that footage or those images, got it? Or I’ll get a lecture and a half from Mags about the Autobot secrecy act.” Rewind pointed his finger in a vaguely threatening way at each of them.

“And uh, Pipes, it wasn’t so much fighting the insecticons as Kamikazeeing on a bridge to make it harder for the swarm to get to the base.” He added.

“Well let’s face it, that was guilt suicide more than anything.” Swerve said blandly as he poured himself a fresh glass of energon. “To be honest, the way he acts now, I’m surprised no one took pity on him and put him out of his misery way, way earlier.”

“Don’t say things like that! That’s cruel, Swerve.” Tailgate frowned at the red and white bot.

“Maybe… probably true though, I’d be suicidal if I’d been fragged up like he was. Who wants to live with that? I mean, it does explain the grumpiness and the drinking. Probably doesn’t recharge too well.” Swerve shrugged, knocking back some of his mid-grade.

“I let you guys know this stuff so you’d ease up on him and hopefully get others to do the same. But I don’t want ANY of you mentioning to Sunstreaker that I’ve given you this much, OK? Don’t even talk to him about it, that’s Rung’s job. You’re all swearing to me, right now, not a word.” The archivist’s tone was serious, making the other three look up at him.

“On my honour as an Autobot in training-“

“On the chance that he’d probably sic Bob on me if I did-“

“If it means you’ll carry on with playing the movie-“

“Swerve. I am SERIOUS.”

“Yeah, yeah, I swear, cone of silence, all that Jazz. Lips are zipped. Now play the movie, I wanna see what happens to Sunstr- I mean Mumble.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you afraid that I’ll stop wanting to see you if you let me know how badly you’re hurting?”

He couldn’t say he hadn’t expected the question. Maybe not phrased like that though, that was blunt. But he could respect that. At least he felt calm enough to form a proper response now.

If you could call nodding after a few moments silence a response.

They were sat side by side on his berth, Bob underneath and chirring in a less than content fashion.

Aid was pressed close, holding one of Sunstreaker’s servos between his own and stroking it gently.

“Please don’t. I want to help you heal.”

Sunstreaker rumbled gently and looked at the floor, still unable to face the medic’s optics from shame. “You deserve someone whole. Someone less high maintenance, someone who’s not going to keep… _breaking._ ” He flinched even as he said it.

“You’re afraid of me abandoning the prospect of a proper relationship with you… but you’re trying to convince me that we shouldn’t because you think you’re wrong for me?” he spoke gently, helm tilting, hoping to catch the golden mech’s optics and draw them up to his, but his gaze remained downturned.

“Who wants to be with someone they keep having to… to put back together all the time? I’ll just exhaust you, your job is hard enough.”

First Aid huffed. “You sound so sure that I’m whole myself. What if we’re both a mess of broken pieces and we need to use bits of each other to make the other function again?”

That struck something in Sunstreaker, and he looked up, locking optics with the medic and momentarily losing all trains of thought to the fact he was looking him directly in the optics, rather than the visor.

He regrouped his thoughts and looked away again, shame licking through his tank. “I should… I should ask why you think you’re broken. If I thought that in the first place, I’d say I’d try to help, but I don’t know how to help you when I can’t even help myself. And I feel selfish as slag for not considering that I’m not the only one of us with problems.”

Aid leant his helm forward to press against Sunstreaker’s. “I’m a doctor, most bots wouldn’t think of it. ‘physician, heal thyself’ or something like that. And to be fair, I don’t talk about it with anyone but Rung, and you’re not psychic. I think… I think being with you is what I need. You don’t HAVE to do or be anything you aren’t, you just… you just have to care.”

The golden bot lifted his optics to his again. “I do care. I wasn’t sure, before, but…”

“But you’re scared of the prospect of me going. Of losing the chance at… whatever it is we’re doing.” He nodded. “I was surprised by that. I… for a bit, I wondered if maybe you only liked me because I was giving you positive attention and fragging you.”

Sunstreaker shifted slightly to lean more comfortably into the medic. “I wondered that myself. Rung asked me some very important questions, and… well, he basically proved to me that it IS more than that. I do feel more than that, about you.”

“Then that’s all I ask. You break as many times as you need to, I’ll put you back together.” He tilted his helm and pecked Sunstreaker’s cheek guard.

“You sure it’s not just going to end up wearing you down? I don’t think relationships really last on principles like that… kind of unhealthy.” He gave him a worried look.

First Aid gathered his face in his servos again and turned his head to look into his optics. “I’m betting that you’re not going to be breaking forever. I don’t do half-aft repairs, after all.”

He leaned in and kissed him lightly, Sunstreaker not responding for a moment before he let himself lean in and reciprocate.

This was the turning point, and he knew it. If he let himself get in deep from here, he was taking the gamble. He’d either make it work with First Aid, or they’d see it through and end up falling apart, at which point he would probably slip back into the darkness.

And if he was taking the plunge into full involvement, then he supposed he should get everything out there, just to be sure First Aid was also ready for the plunge. He had to give Aid some sort of warning, let him know exactly what he was getting himself into.

He pulled back from the kiss reluctantly, looking Aid straight in the optics now. “I guess… you already know most of what’s wrong with me-“

“You really need to stop seeing your ordeals as character flaws.” He murmured, stroking his thumbs over Sunstreaker’s cheek guards. The golden bot raised a servo to lay it over one of the medic’s, taking it and holding it.

“I’m trying to lead into the fact I was never very good at this sort of thing. I can’t use my experiences as an excuse. I do… things that feel normal to me, that other bots find odd, or… or bad. A lot of the time I can’t tell when something that feels normal to me isn’t normal to everyone else. You need to know that.”

Aid tilted his helm curiously, expression non-judgemental. “That’s OK… I’ll learn. I’m the same, y’know? Like… writing fan fiction, I never really saw that as odd, but most bots have never heard of it, they don’t know what it is. It’s weird to them.”

Sunstreaker nodded. “That’s not a bad thing though. With me it’s… it’s actions, and words, and putting my pede in my mouth. And for a long time I’ve just… stopped trying to censor myself, I just do what I do, I didn’t really care about who got offended, or weirded out. It’s a bad habit, please don’t… take me the wrong way.”

Aid had no other response to that than to nod. He watched curiously as the golden bot bit at his bottom lip-plate nervously. He had something else to tell him, but Aid had no ideas as to what it would be. He patiently waited for Sunstreaker to continue.

“I… I did something, for you… for us… today, actually, and I wasn’t going to show you for ages until I knew, or thought I’d know how you’d react. But before you commit any more energy or emotion into me, I guess I should show you. No surprises, all cards on the table.”

He drew a deep ventilation, standing and leading Aid over to the other side of the expansive room. He shifted a couple of boxes and angled the painting into the diffuse light from the window.

“It’s nowhere near dry, oil enamel takes forever to dry. But, it’s done, I’m pretty sure it’s done.”

He stepped back and heard Aid gasp. He was torn as to whether he wanted to actually face the medic’s expression or not. Despite his nervousness, he turned his head enough to see First Aid’s reaction out of the corner of his optic. Blank shock was all he got before the medic moved so he couldn’t see his reactions any more.

First Aid took a few steps forward and knelt to look at it better. He had so many questions about it… but the most pressing one was “Why… why the middle of an overload?”

Sunstreaker couldn’t see Aid’s face where he was now, so he assumed the shocked sounding question was him not taking it well.

“It’s not because I just wanna frag you all the time, I swear, it’s not about that… I mean I still um… want to, a lot, but the reason is ‘cause overload is when a bot lets go, y’know?... it’s um… it’s when you’re really you… not to say you’re a fake most of the time, I don’t think that, it’s just… yeah, it’s uh, it’s different… when we’re ‘facing… you stop worrying about other stuff… and… yeah…”

He trailed off pathetically when Aid just remained crouched, standing there feeling like his pedes and servos were made of lumps of iron.

First Aid was enthralled. This was how Sunstreaker saw the world? The forms, the shapes, they were recognisable for what they were but they weren’t so much solid angles as a series of lines flowing perfectly into and against one another.

And the light… the light and the shade, and the _detail._ How much attention had Sunstreaker PAID to his frame? He felt embarrassed to realise he’d been so closely studied, even his scuffs and semi-hidden protoform scars were showing. But the part he could see Sunstreaker had paid the most attention to… his visor. That spoke volumes to him.

He wanted to touch it, but he daren’t… not even if it was dry, for fear of ruining it somehow. It was clear Sunstreaker really liked their interfacing, but going to this much effort to show how much he liked HIM...

He felt embarrassed that he had nothing nearly as beautiful to show for his affections.

Sunstreaker fidgeted with his servos. “You can… I mean you don’t have to stay. If you’re too weirded out. I understand”. His voice was quiet and defeated. He was sure the silence was rejection.

Which was why he actually reeled back a little bit when Aid got up and closed the gap between them, grasping him by the shoulders and dragging him into a hard kiss.

When he got over the shock, he sagged in relief and wrapped his arms around the medic, kissing back eagerly. The release of his anxious tension left him giddy and shaking.

Aid pressed him back towards the berth, making him sit and straddling his lap, all without breaking contact with his mouth.

When he did, he was panting and his optics were brighter than Sunstreaker had ever seen them. The urge to paint again surfaced enough for him to capture every last detail of them as he could in his memory.

“I can’t believe you did that… for ME.” The medic said breathlessly, settling in his lap. Aid bit at his own lip-plate a little. “If it was meant to make me want to frag you into the berth for days, it worked”.

The golden mech’s optics widened in surprise. “I thought… primus, I thought for a bit there that you really hated it.”

Aid made a strangled sound he couldn’t quite distinguish and shook his helm. “Noooo nono! Primus, I love it! I mean… you painted ME. You went to all that effort for me, and you… you pay so much attention, and you… the fact you think I’m even WORTH painting like that, I feel like I can’t match that expression, how do I give back what you just gave me, it’s so amazing.”

Sunstreaker felt heat rise in his face plate and he ducked his helm slightly. “You don’t have to do anything, I did it because I wanted to. Because I NEEDED to. It’s… it’s like that, it’s an urge you can’t get rid of, you have to do it, you have to get it out of your head and make it real, I don’t know why. But you made me feel that, you made me need to paint you.”

Aid leant forward to bring their helms to rest against one another again, servo coming up to brush a thumb over a silver cheek-arch. Sunstreaker’s optics dimmed and he leant into the touch a little.

“You’re way, way more amazing than you or anyone else gives you credit for, you know that? ...I don’t want to ruin the moment but… the wall? Is the wall your… efforts, I guess, to get rid of the bad memories?”

Sunstreaker’s brow knitted slightly and he shook his helm a little. Not enough to dislodge Aid’s where it leant against it, because he didn’t want to break that contact.

“That… that’s different. That’s… a reminder. Because I don’t…” he took a deep vent to try and steady his wavering voice. “I don’t deserve to forget what I’ve done. It’s there to remind me what I did. And it’s… it’s stuff that sticks in my head, loops of thought that don’t stop until I paint them… it’s a mess, like my head. It’s just a mess. I hate it.”

Aid whirred and shifted, moving to break Sunstreaker’s optic contact with the wall. “You deserve to be whole again. You do. Please don’t hate yourself.”

Sunstreaker leant in when Aid did this time, their lips brushing against each other’s gently, less a kiss and more an intimate comforting gesture.

The front-liner shuttered his optics and concentrated on regulating his frazzled EM field, meshing it with First Aid’s and trying to relax. His emotions had been all over the place, and he was exhausted.

A gentle servo caressed his cheek again, before moving to rub the bottom edge of his helm fin. The moment those skilled digits began to slide across the sensitive projections, he became putty in the medic’s servos.

He realised there was heat near his abdomen, and that it was coming from First Aid. His own servos found red thighs and he slid his palms across them, up the hip-plates and sides, tracing the seams and edges of plating.

Aid pressed closer, but he didn’t advance his touches as Sunstreaker expected.

“Do you… I mean, I understand if you’re not in the mood… and I feel like I’m taking advantage of you at a bad time-“ Aid’s voice was the same, anxious but aroused tone it had been the first time they’d ‘faced.

The corners of the golden mech’s lip plates pulled up and he grasped the hips, pulling Aid’s hot panel down against his own. He onlined his optics to look into the medic’s.

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather have you do to me right now. Forget bad time, this is the best time. When you’re fragging me, whatever is in my head, good or bad, goes out the window, which is just what I want right now. You, in my head, and in me.”

Aid tittered at that and buried his face in Sunstreaker’s shoulder. “Primus, make a bot feel special why don’t you.”

“You ARE special.” Sunstreaker murmured, turning his helm to get at the medic’s nicely exposed neck, kissing and sucking an energon line and making the red and white mech gasp.

Aid moaned and ground against him, servos reaching around to fiddle into gaps under Sunstreaker’s back kibble, making him arch and groan against the neck cables.

The two became lost in touches, pressing closer, plating squealing slightly where they scraped a little hard against each other in their attempt to get as much physical contact as possible.

Despite the fact he was in a good position to get spiked by the golden mech, Aid took Sunstreaker’s request for him to fill his body as well as his mind to spark. He rose up on his knees and slid one between golden thighs, artfully using his body to coax Sunstreaker into a new position.

He met no resistance, unless he could call a black panel grinding against his knee resistance, and eventually got Sunstreaker leaning back against the wall, which made it easy for him to get between both his legs, slip his servos beneath those glossy thighs and raise them up to hook Sunstreaker’s knees over his elbows.

When the front-liner realised the position he’d been coaxed into, he revved hard with arousal, panel snicking open and spike releasing.

Aid gave him a huge smile and let his own panel open as he leant forward, kissing a mewling Sunstreaker as he lined up with the dripping valve and let his spike extend directly into the waiting port.

Sunstreaker’s optics flashed brightly and he moaned, bucking weakly and relishing how the smaller but deceptively strong mech had him pinned.

His valve squeezed at the wonderful intrusion, feeling every inch of the spike sliding into him, deeper and deeper. His legs shook slightly from the intensity of his arousal, his own spike rock hard and pressed between them.

As soon as he was fully extended, Aid pulled back. He started with a slow rhythm, letting Sunstreaker’s valve nodes take in every bit of data they possibly could, not to mention his own.

All the while, they kissed and nipped at each other’s lip-plates, Sunstreaker’s servos making for a wonderful distraction where they clawed lightly at his sides, teasing at tyres and slipping into seams to stroke wires and nodes.

Pretty soon, Aid was picking up pace, Sunstreaker getting louder with his moans. It seemed he really, REALLY liked being pinned in this position, because he writhed and bucked like mad, valve and spike leaking copious amounts of fluid.

Aid couldn’t help himself, pressing Sunstreaker’s legs up to the edge of their tolerance to get his helm down beside the golden mech’s, so he could nip and lick at his helm fins.

Sunstreaker made a strangled sound of pleasure and reached up to slide servos under the kibble on Aid’s back.

Ooooh primus that felt wonderful… his hips began to piston against Sunstreaker’s, and within a minute, the two were crashing into overload, loudly.

Wet heat spread between them as Sunstreaker’s spike released, valve clenching hard enough around Aid’s spike to force out a fair amount of the transfluid he filled it with.

It was messy, and to Aid, it was glorious, because the feel and the smell all filled his senses, making the charge release feel sweeter, last longer. Sunstreaker’s gratifying sounds really helped.

The golden mech squirmed a little and Aid released his thighs, which settled around his hips.

Panting, they let themselves cool down a little. From somewhere underneath the berth came a mrooing sound.

Sunstreaker chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down Aid’s spine.

“Sorry Bob… kinda um… maybe forgot you were in here too…”

This statement was met with a few sulky, indignant clicks. Sunstreaker reached into his subspace and pulled out some treats, flicking them onto the floor one by one until he heard the snuffling and chirring of appeasement from his pet.

First Aid giggled. “Oops. Hope he doesn’t hate me for this. Or think I’m trying to push him out of the relationship.”

“Neh, he won’t hate you, so long as you pet him and feed him. He’s way too easy to please.” He squirmed slightly, Aid pulling out and giving him room to make himself more comfortable. Much as he loved that position, his back-plates didn’t for too long.

Aid bit at his lip, engine purring at the feel of pulling out and the amount of lubricant and transfluid covering the berth. A question had risen to his mind and he wasn’t sure if he dared ask or not.

Well, as Sunstreaker had said… cards on the table.

“Hey Sun… um, about Bob… you’ve had him a really long time now huh?”

Sunstreaker was sat up and stretching his legs and back out a little. “Hmm? Yeah, I guess so… why?”

“I was… well. I mean, it was suggested… I mean I heard… it’s just a stupid thing Ambulon said, I don’t know if it’s a wide spread rumour or just something he thought about…” Aid fidgeted, sitting back and watching the front-liner’s face for signs that he was worried about where this conversation was headed.

He was interrupted from his attempt to delicately word the question by Bob popping his head up over the berth and chirring. The two of them looked down at him, the bug’s antennae perking up when he realised something fun was going on up here.

Bob scrambled up onto the berth while Sunstreaker grumbled at him and tried to push him off.

The bug bot sniffed at the fluids on the berth and then began to try and roll Sunstreaker onto his back.  


“BOB! Not NOW damnit, DOWN! OFF ya big- no, NO! Ngh-“

Aid’s faceplate flushed with heat as he saw Bob nuzzling at Sunstreaker’s exposed interface equipment, making a surprised noise when something transformed out of the underside of Bob’s abdomen. He realised after a moment that it was a spike.

“PRIMUS that thing is HUGE.”

“BOB. NO. DOWN.”

The harsher tone to Sunstreaker’s voice got the insecticon’s attention, and with a disappointed chirr he hopped down, staring up at them with big ‘what did I do?’ optics.

Aid glanced back at Sunstreaker, noting that his spike had started to pressurise again. “I… um… guess that answers my question… sort of…”

Sunstreaker gave him a highly embarrassed look. “You… wanted to know if he and I had… um…” He rubbed the back of his helm and mumbled “It’s complicated”.

Aid slipped off the berth and scritched under Bob’s jaw. The bug whirred and flopped onto his back for belly rubs. The spike was still transformed out, and that’s what Aid was most curious about.

“So how did you find out that he COULD interface?” he asked curiously.

The golden mech, still looking ashamed, fidgeted with his servos. “I was um… self-servicing a bit when there was nothing going on and I was alone. This was after the chaos stuff and before we went on this quest. Bob got all curious about what I was doing, and I tried to shoo him off, and then he started doing… SOMETHING with his mouth thingy on my spike, and it kinda snowballed and in the end he had me on my hands and knees and… yeah, he’s packing some damn impressive equipment, I got curious and let him have at it. I was… very, very lonely.”

Aid, all the while Sunstreaker explained his experience, was leaning down and investigating the curiously shaped spike. Rubbing at the black belly-plates seemed enough stimulation that Bob didn’t want to retract it.

Sunstreaker watched in surprise as Aid touched the spike, feeling it and stroking it lightly, Bob wriggling and chirring happily.

He’d done that himself once or twice, when Bob had seemed eager and he’d not been in the mood himself. “So uuuuh… you’re not… disgusted?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, heh, I uuuuh… I’m kind of… I can’t believe I’m saying it but I wouldn’t mind giving it a go, this thing looks like it would feel really um…” Aid floundered, highly embarrassed as he kept stroking the knobbly spike. “So long as Bob is consenting, and it seems he is.”

Sunstreaker gave a knowing grin as his shame turned into relief. “It knots, you know.”

Aid glanced up at him with a bemused look. “It what?”

Sunstreaker slipped off the berth and crouched on Bob’s other side, scratching the bot’s belly while Aid kept working the spike. “It knots. When he overloads. He gets stuck in you until it goes down enough for him to pull out. This bit, just here, it expands, locks him in.”

He placed his servo over Aid’s and squeezed it lightly over the bulge near the base. Aid’s whole frame went up a degree.

“Oh! Primus, that could break a valve of the wrong size!”

“Nah, he’s gentle. He doesn’t just have at it y’know, he must be able to feel pretty well what he’s doing, he doesn’t thrust unless the angle is right. And by the time it knots, you’re worked up enough to stretch, but I wouldn’t recommend anyone of say, Rewind’s class of bot, to take a spike like that. Then again, Rewind is with Chromedome, so he probably COULD-“

Aid burst out into giggles, servo fiddling with the tip of Bob’s spike, feeling the odd shape and pulling it into angles where he could see all the details of the ridges. He then went back to stroking it, amused by the noises Bob made.

“You’re terrible… I mean… accurate in your assumption, but I don’t say that from a medical standpoint, because I can’t divulge such information. What I know of their records aside, it could very easily be assumed that you’re right just from the way they interact.”

“You don’t even know the number of times I’ve seen Chromedome heating up while Rewind plays with his hip-pistons under the edge of a table at the bar.” He snickered. “I like those two, they go well together- oop, there he goes.”

Sunstreaker leant back a little, scratching under a chittering Bob’s jaw as he overloaded.

First Aid’s optics were almost perfect circles they were so wide. The force with which the insecticon’s transfluid streamed was enough to streak it at least twice the length of the bots body across the floor.

He gasped when Sunstreaker’s servo returned to his on the spike and got him to squeeze and milk the base of the knot. Their optics met and Aid felt his whole frame go up yet another degree with the smouldering smirk look the golden mech was giving him.

“Gotta hold it like this to imitate the entrance of a valve clenching in overload. Otherwise he doesn’t get off properly and then he keeps humping everything for hours.” He snickered.

Bob twitched and chirred loudly as he bucked against their servos, eventually flopping and whirring in contentment.

“How um… how long do you hold it like this?” the medic asked a little breathlessly, suddenly very aware of his own spike having gone rock hard again.

“Mmmm usually until he stops twitching and the knot goes down a bit. Only takes about a breem. He’ll recharge like a log for cycles after this. Wouldn’t even wake up for the apocalypse if it came about.” He leant over and peered at Aid’s spike. His own was very much ready to go again too.

“So you’re saying it doesn’t matter how much noise we make, basically?” Aid snickered.

Sunstreaker leant in closer. “Mmmmhmmmm, basically.”

He angled his helm, as if to kiss the red and white mech, but then diverted to nip and nibble his way down his jaw. “Hnnn maybe another time-“ he spoke between nips, “when Bob is in the mood… I’ll let you see just what it feels like… when THIS-“ He gave Aid’s servo around the knot a tiny squeeze, Bob clicking happily at the feeling. “... Fills you up and locks all that transfluid he makes in you… you like feeling really full, right?”

Aid made a garbled, static laced noise and nodded as the golden mech worked his way down his neck.

A servo snuck its way over to Aid’s spike and the medic whimpered as he tried not to squeeze at Bob’s spike more while Sunstreaker stroked at his.

When he heard the bug bot buzzing in his version of a snore, he let go of the spike and all but pounced Sunstreaker. “Nnnnh you going to do your best to get me full then?”

Sunstreaker’s engine revved, powerful and throaty and primus did it get Aid going.

“Damn straight I am. Much as I love Bob, I’m not about to let him upstage me.”

Aid giggled and squeaked as he was swept up in powerful arms and set on the berth, Sunstreaker looming over him and getting back to nuzzling and nipping along his neck.

Aid lay back and gave him all the access he needed, servos moving down the front-liner’s chest to play along the edges of his hips. Those hips dipped down and rubbed their spikes together, making both of them rev.

With his helm thrown back, Aid could see out the long observation deck window. It was more like a glass wall broken only by the criss-cross of structural beams that re-enforced the panes.

The whole universe stretched out, star clusters and local nebulae glittering through the glow of the rear thrusters positioned either side of and below the room.

The sight alone was vent-stalling, but the feel of Sunstreaker moving against him, pressing into him, worshipping his frame with his mouth and servos… primus, he felt like his spark was surging brighter than any of the stars out there.

He came back into the moment and raised his legs to wrap them around Sunstreaker’s hips as he was rocked into.

The golden mech left his neck to at last kiss his lip-plates again, making them tingle. Aid clawed his digits lightly up his back-plates and over his shoulders to play with the elegant crests on his helm.

Sunstreaker gasped and moaned against his mouth, hips picking up pace. He lost himself in First Aid. It was so easy to do, such an addictive feeling. He was his window to a happiness he barely remembered and swore he’d never feel again.

He had no idea that Aid felt the same way about him.

When he onlined his optics and pulled back from the kiss to gasp for air, he certainly felt a hint of what the bot thought of him in the look he was giving him.

He was taken by surprise at the intensity of affection in that look. He wanted to do it justice, wanted to be good enough for him, and the only way he really knew how to do that right now was to channel his desire into facing the absolute slag out of him.

He took one of Aid’s servos and raised it over the medic’s helm, pinning it by the wrist and rubbing circles on the palm with his fingers, his other servo sliding beneath Aid’s hips to arch his back, slamming up against him to hit his ceiling node and every anterior node on the way.

The cry that First Aid let out was such a raw sound of passion it made him shiver and moan, burying his mouth against his neck again and sucking on a line, groaning around it with every delicious sound the medic made right into his audial.

When he overloaded, it felt and sounded spectacular. Valve clenched, hot and tight, hips jerking into his as he ground into him. His transfluid felt like molten pleasure as it filled the valve and spilled out. First Aid’s spike actually pulsed against his abdomen as it emptied its own load hot and slick against their plating.

He pressed it a little harder between them and Aid keened, gasping his name and breathing hot against his helm crest.

Sunstreaker groaned the medic’s name and shivered, holding still and absorbing every detail of the moment with every sensor but sight.

His vents heaved air through his frame to cool it, Aid’s doing the same as they held onto the ebbing waves of pleasure of their combined overloads.

Slowly, Sunstreaker relaxed, lowering Aid’s hips back onto the berth and arranging himself on him so he wasn’t uncomfortable. He pulled the wrist he’d trapped back to his mouth and kissed it before resting his helm against Aid’s.

The medic whirred and pecked his lips gently. He was too overwhelmed with how GOOD he felt to put it into words, but he was pretty sure Sunstreaker had gathered from the noises he’d made just how much he’d enjoyed it.

Plus the silence and closeness and afterglow was so nice, there was no point trying to put words to it.

They lay there with armour ticking and fans whirring… and Bob still snoring on the floor, which made Aid grin. He could totally get used to this.

Sunstreaker, for his part, was having his own internal awe moment. He had no idea how to express his amazement that this mech could take him from his lowest point to his highest within half a cycle.

As far as he was concerned, lying with him in silence with the universe stretched out over their heads was the best thing that existed right now. He wasn’t about to wreck it with clumsy words.

He wanted this to last. Wanted THEM to last. And he wanted it enough, he decided, to do whatever he had to in order to fix himself.


End file.
